


Gleam and Glow

by multipurposetoolguy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Romance, Tangled AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipurposetoolguy/pseuds/multipurposetoolguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is a thief-by-circumstance on the run who stumbles into a lonely tower, hidden in the forest. Bilbo is a sheltered young recluse, gazing out his high window and dreaming of what life could be. A Tangled AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I caved and did the thing. I hope you enjoy the intro! 
> 
> EDIT: I've gone back and edited Thorin's narration to deviate farther from Flynn's in the film, it felt too similar and not like Thorin speaking at all. I hope it reads more in character now! 
> 
> Italics is Thorin's narration, non-italics is scene setting and the reader's visuals as he's speaking.

_This is the story of how I died._

  
_That, of course, isn't the strangest thing this tale holds, and truthfully, it isn't even mine._

  
_This is the story of a boy named Bilbo, and it starts with the sun._

  
_Long ago, before the things that crawled this earth had names or voices or swords to point at one another, a single drop of sunlight, pure and fire-bright, fell from the heavens, and from this small drop of sun, grew a magic, golden flower. It's petals sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, it always smelled of sweet summer afternoons, and, most importantly, it had the inexplicable and primal ability to heal the sick and the injured._

  
_Centuries passed, and nestled in a lush valley sunken into a sparkling sapphire lake, as much an extention of the earth as the trees and hills that rose around it, there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved King and Queen; He, with his kind eyes and knack for peaceful resolutions among his people, and She, with her riot of bouncing brown curls framing soft blue eyes, and her economic know-how, combining to ensure prosperity for all within their kingdom._

 

 

The royal couple stood atop a balcony in the palace, hands clasped together as the air rang with shouts of praise. The citadel below them was packed full to bursting with bright, happy faces, young and old and everywhere in between, waving the House Colors and chanting songs of loyalty. Death and disease rates were low, trade was bustling, and even the weather seemed to reflect the peace and prosperity of the kingdom of the Shirefolk, warm sunshine without a cloud in the sky.

 

 

_It worked, fantastically well, and all were happy and thriving. At least, to the best of their knowledge._

_But that is a part of our story that has not yet come to pass. Here, at the start of it all, The Queen was preparing to give birth, to the first heir in her line._

_But her fortunes turned, and she got sick. Very sick._

_She was running out of time, and that’s when people usually start to look for a miracle. Or in this case, a flower who's petals shone with a light that was borrowed from the sky._

_The guards of the palace searched every corner of their known world for a cure to help heal the queen, rapidly approaching the date of the birth of her child. The flower, by some cruel trick of fate in the same vein as that which had stricken her ill in the first place, was not far from the palace but was hidden from plain sight, its location a secret held only by a man who went by the name of Smaug. Smaug was greedy, selfish, and he'd happened upon the flower hundreds of years ago, discovering that he could harness its incredible power to lengthen his life. All he had to do was sing a special song, a tune who's notes and words were coded in the plant's DNA, the key to opening its arcane doors and spilling forth the old magic within._

 

 

A hooded figure crouched low and crawled through the underbrush, whipping their head around in search of signs they'd been followed. Satisfied that they were alone, they slowly draped back their hood and removed the secret cover hiding the flower. With gnarled and spotted fingers he grasps a petal lightly, its incandescent sparkle reflecting in harsh, piercing amber eyes. The wrinkles which drooped and sagged about his face pulled taught and his skin cleared of blemishes as he sang in a low, rumbling growl.

"Flower, gleam and glow  
Let your power shine  
Make the clock reverse  
Bring back what once was mine  
What once was mine..."

 

 

_Instead of harnessing the power of the plant to helpless countless people trapped in the misery of sickness, save innumerable lives, Smaug hid it away to be used only by himself, like the greedy, scum of the earth worm that he was._  
_But Smaug was slipping, wasn't careful in hiding the flower, and the palace guards discovered it at last, most of them weeping in relief._  
_The magic of the plant healed the queen, and a healthy baby boy -a prince- was born, with beautiful golden hair that plucked the sunlight from the sky and held it in a halo about his head, as easily as one would pluck a daisy from the grass._

 

 

The baby rolled around his beautifully gilded crib, his parents smiling down at him, finally letting out a breath it seemed they'd been holding since the Queen fell ill and the sun seemed to fade from the sky above the kingdom, it too abandoning hope. He had a mop of gorgeous golden hair that sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, and eyes like a well that you can't see the bottom of. He squirmed and squealed up at his parents, the picture of sunshine when all it's done is rain for months. A breath of sweet summer air, this child was. A new hope for all the Shire.

 

 

_Of course, undeniably, that was Bilbo._

_To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen launched a dazzling volley of fireworks into the sky, a special concoction created by their trusted adviser and long-time family friend Gandalf Greyhame, whizzing and popping and sparking intricate patterns across the stars. And for that one moment, everything was perfect._

_And then, like all great and gilded things do, that moment ended._

 

 

One night, with the moonlight draped across the palace walls like a pale sheet, the balcony door to young Bilbo's bedroom swung open slowly and silently. Hooded and cloaked as ever, Smaug crept up over the balcony and into the quiet of the room, coming to stoop over the baby's crib. Silver hair shone in the moonlight, his age again catching up to him, and he needed another dose of the flower's magic - and soon. 

Taking a lock of Bilbo's glimmering golden hair (now grown quite long in his short time on this earth) between his fingers and the blade of a knife, he sang the special rhyme low and hushed in the quiet of the night. 

"Flower, gleam and glow  
Let your power shine  
Make the clock re-"

Smaug gasped, a pang of fear piercing the room as golden color drained from the severed lock, like water down a drain, turning it a mousy brown. 

A deep breath of calm, calculated thought, and his decision was made.

 

 

_Smaug broke into the castle, stole the child and just like that–_  
_Gone._  
_The kingdom searched and searched but they could not find the prince. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Smaug raised the child as his own._

 

  
_Heal what has been hurt_  
_Change the fate’s design_  
_Save what has been lost_  
_Bring back what once was mine_  
_What once was mine..._

 

  
_Smaug had found his new magic flower, but this time he was determined to keep it hidden._

 

 

"Why can’t I go outside?" Bilbo, just a little boy, no older than 6, peered over the windowsill. His little eyes were much too sad for his age. 

"The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you’re safe. Do you understand, flower?" Smaug curled a long-fingered hand into the boy's long, honey-gold hair -almost to his knees, it grew so fast- and tucked a short brown lock behind his ear. It never grew back, where it had been cut, and it would always be that soft brown color, standing out amongst the waterfall of gold. 

"Yes daddy."

 

 

_But the walls of that tower could not hide everything._  
_Each year, on his birthday, the King and Queen released thousands of fireworks into the sky, in hope that one day, their lost prince would return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! Please do let me know what you think, your guys' feedback will really spur me into getting the rest out quickly! Thanks for reading! :)


	2. The Sad-Eyed Boy and the Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd start posting chapters after it was ALL written, but that is just too long to wait. So! I've decided to post a chapter once I'm halfway through writing the next one. So here's chapter two for now! It's about 3 times longer than the intro so that's cool!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Aha!"

Bilbo pulled back the curtains hanging over the balcony window triumphantly, revealing a small-ish, tea-brown rabbit with rather large ears flopped to either side of its' head. It gazed up at the boy with half-lidded eyes, bored out of it's little rabbit brain.

"Found you! I win again!" He stooped down to the rabbit's level, pouting theatrically. "Oh come on CeCe don't look at me like that!"

The rabbit merely blinked.

"Best thirteen out of twenty-five?" CeCe rolled her small eyes and Bilbo scooped her up in his arms, heaving a sigh.

"Fine then, what do _you_ want to do?" CeCe wriggled in his arms in the direction of- well, _out the window._

Now it was Bilbo's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I don't think so. I like it just fine in here and so do you, thank you. To think, I've lived this long only to be sassed by a rabbit. Who would've guessed that one?" Bilbo turned away from the window, gently dropping CeCe to her furry feet and stepping over a thick length of his -incredibly, _impossibly_ long- golden hair that lay draped across the floor.

"Chess?" she shook her head.

"We could bake some cupcakes? I've got some blueberries left!" another little shake.

Bilbo huffed, then drew in an exaggerated breath. "We can read, play darts, sew a quilt, bake a cake, sweep the floor, play guitar, knit another scarf, do a puzzle, make a paper mache model of the tower _again_ , paint some more-" an aggravated squeak cut his rant short -thank  _goodness_ \- and he smirked down at her.

"Oh alright, enough teasing." He bent and ruffled the wild tuft of fur between her ears. "Let's paint, shall we? I know just what to add..." he trailed off, turning to gaze out the window again. "My special lights..."

CeCe brushed up against his foot and he snapped out of his reverie with a smile. Throwing a length of neatly brushed hair up and over a hanging beam, he hoisted himself and CeCe up to paint over one of the last free spaces on the walls, a modest patch of canvas behind a low-hanging drapery. He tried as best as he could to capture the whirling, zooming lights he saw every year, every year on his _birthday_ , and he sat back on his haunches to survey his work, satisfied.

"This is a _very_ important day CeCe!" he dabbed the last touches onto a swirling burst of orange against the dark blue of the night sky. "I'm gonna do it. I'm finally gonna ask him!" CeCe twitched her nose up at him and he grinned, gasping and dashing the curtains closed around the painting at the sudden shout from out the window and below.

"Bilbo! Let down your hair!"

"Coming father!" He shot a quick, hopeful look at CeCe where she hid behind the drapery. He gave her a small thumbs up, and at her excited nod he ran to the window. Slinging a loop over a hook hanging in the ceiling Bilbo gathered his tresses into his arms and tossed them out the window, where they glittered in the afternoon light like fellow sunbeams as they fluttered to the floor around his father's feet.

In a practiced motion the man took up a loop and stepped into it, tugging once to signal Bilbo to hoist him up and into their home-on-high.

Smaug lithely stepped over the threshold and into the room, dropping his basket laden with apples on a side table and giving a light pat on the head in response to Bilbo's panted "Welcome home, father!"

"Bilbo darling, however do you manage to do that every day, without fail? It looks absolutely exhausting." The words sounded kind but his expression remained the same, eyes half closed and a drone to his voice as if he were inspecting his cuticles constantly. He unbuttoned his traveling cloak, a large, heavy black thing with blood red lining, and dumped the heap into Bilbo's waiting arms.

"Oh, it's nothing, heh.." He shared a nervous look with the rabbit behind the drapery and swallowed, steeling himself. "Father, as you know, tomorrow is a very important day-"

"Hang that up dear it'll wrinkle!" Smaug tutted at him and set about unpacking the apples into a large bowl on the table.

Bilbo wobbled under the bulk and hung it up quickly on a peg near the window, rushing back over to stand before his father, who ran a hand through his short, jet-black waves as he stepped around him. "Anyway father I wanted to ask you something-"

"I'm feeling a little run-down, pet. Will you sing for me dear?" a thin, white hand held to his brow.

"Oh- Of course father!" Bilbo pulled a large wooden chair over from the wall to rest before the fireplace, and Smaug sat down on its' shimmering red upholstery. Bilbo took his usual seat on the floor in front of his father, his wavy locks gathered up behind him where Smaug would take up the brush and comb slowly through it while he sang.

Today though, today Bilbo was nervous, and he had to ask him. It was now or never. He took a breath and sang the words quickly, his hair starting to glow, warm and bright, almost immediately.

"Ach- wait!" Smaug scrambled to brush through it as quickly as he could, running his hands through it to absorb its power as it surged through the follicles. "Bilbo! Slow down!" Before he knew it Bilbo had finished the song and stood up, whirling to face him, a long strand of hair being tugged and worried between his hands.

"So father, I was saying that tomorrow is really big day, and you didn't really respond- you may have forgotten, which is okay! It's just, tomorrow is my birthday! There it is, haha, and well, father, I-"

"What? No, couldn't be. I recall you had one of those last year." One black eyebrow rose up and his lips quirked in a smirk.

Bilbo forced out a short laugh and twiddled the hair between his fingers some more. "That's the thing about birthdays, heh, they're kind of an annual thing.." Smaug merely blinked once slowly, seemingly ready to listen now, so he pressed on. "Father, I'm turning eighteen and, what I want for, what I've wanted more than anything, I want-"

"Bilbo for goodness sake stop mumbling! You _know_ how I feel about the mumbling, it's absolutely infuriating." He rubbed at his temples. "Oh but I know you don't do it on purpose, darling, I don't blame you. I do love so, my flower." He gave Bilbo a sickly sweet grin and ruffled his hair.

Bilbo cleared his throat and looked Smaug dead in the eyes. "I want to see the magic lights."

Smaug's smile fell off his face. "The what?"

Bilbo looked back at CeCe, snuffling her nose at him encouragingly, and she scampered further into hiding as he whipped a length of hair up to part the drapery from his latest painting. Bilbo had taken great care to capture the erratic, swirling-swooping motion of the lights, and how they exploded into colors and shapes that had never been seen before. Off to the side he had painted a small figure sitting in a treetop, gazing up at the spectacle with longing, a very familiar cascade of gold running down its back.

"I was hoping you'd take me to see the magic lights."

Smaug narrowed his eyes before- "Ah, you mean the stars. Did you see a _shooting_ star, perhaps?"

"No, see, the thing is- I've charted the stars," he sidestepped to the bookshelf nearby and pulled out a bound journal, opening it up to pages upon pages of hand-drawn star charts, showing it to his father, "and they're _always_ constant. These though, the lights- they appear every year on my birthday and _only_ on my birthday." His eyes were wide and hopeful, pleading that his father would feel his passion. He set the book down and gripped that same lock of hair tightly in his hands.

He continued on in a near whisper. "And.. I can't help but feel like they're meant for me."

"Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?" His voice was low, somewhere between you'd-better-say-no and are-you-sure-you-want-to-go-there?

But Bilbo stood his ground, pushing his chin out, sending wavy tresses tumbling away from his determined face. "I have to see them, Father. In person, not just from my window. I need to know what they are."

Smaug looked concerned for a moment, before standing from his chair and striding forward to cup Bilbo's face gently between his hands. "You want to go outside? Bilbo, look at you, as fragile as the newborn daisies in your garden!"

Somewhere behind the drapery CeCe glanced at the small but well-tended strip of soil and sproutlings nestled in the windowsill and then back towards the scene unfolding with an angry pinch to her nose.

"The world is harsh and unforgiving out there, my flower." He stroked his golden head lovingly. "You know why we stay up in this tower, don't you?"

"I know, but.."

"To keep you safe." He stepped back and folded his hands -quite finally- behind his back. "Father knows best, dear, trust me!"

Bilbo sighed, eyes downcast.

"Oh, come now, don't look so glum! You'll give yourself wrinkles darling, and they will not do you _any_ favors." He turned away with disdain for the very thought of wrinkling and stood by the window, gazing out unfocused as he continued.

"Really you should be thanking your lucky "magic" stars -and _me_ , most importantly- that I've kept you up here, away from the nightmares out there."

"N-Nightmares?"

Smaug spun on his heel, an exaggerated look of horror on his face. "Oh yes. It's a terrifying, brutal, cut-throat world out there Bilbo. Ruffians, _cannibals,_ snakes, the plague!" Smaug gripped his chest in terror.

Bilbo gasped, grasping at his own. "No!"

"Yes! Large bugs, quicksand, men with sharp teeth and sharper swords Bilbo oh enough, you'll put your dear old dad in his grave!" He swooned back into his plush red chair.

Bilbo was looking at him with wet eyes from under brows bunched up with worry, his hands balled up close to his face. "Father?" he peeped. So much talk of life-threatening danger and crushed life-long dreams was turning his stomach.

Smaug met his eyes and he sighed. "Look at you, Bilbo. Like a mouse shaking in his boots. On your own, you couldn't possibly hope to survive out there!" Bilbo stood up a little straighter under the scrutiny. "You're very particular about things, you know that, and let's not even mention your height. Or your weight, for that matter."

Bilbo looked down at his round middle and heard CeCe squeak indignantly somewhere behind him, and he coughed to cover it. "Father, please... If you went with me, maybe-"

"Bilbo," He cut him off, voice like a guillotine. "Don't ever ask to leave this tower again." His face was kind enough but his eyes were not at all.

Clenching his fists at his sides Bilbo let out a shaky breath, casting his eyes to the floor again. "Yes father."

Smaug's face softened and he smiled sadly, opening his arms and wrapping them around Bilbo as he stepped into them. "I love you very much, flower."

Bilbo hugged tighter. "I love you more."

"And I love you most." With a soft peck to the top of his head Smaug stood, fetching his cloak once more and throwing it on in a smooth arc of dark fabric. Bilbo moved by muscle memory, swinging a loop of hair over the hook in the ceiling to let his father descend, off to collect things for dinner that night.

As he was lowered smoothly down Smaug called up to the sad-eyed golden boy with a cheer in his voice as if he hadn't just taken Bilbo's heart out of his chest and stomped on it.

"I'll see you in a bit, my flower!"

"I'll be here," he called weakly, scooping CeCe up into his arms and holding her close to his chest. "forever..."

He slumped against the windowsill, eyes focusing on nothing, his hair flowing slowly and sadly in the warm autumn breeze.

\--------------

_Careful.. caaaarefuuuuul...QUIETLY!_

Down through a skylight in the palace's main chamber roof a tall, broad-shouldered and decidedly _focused_ man lowered himself on a thick rope, secured around his waist and somewhere on the roof above.

Sweat rolled down his face from his brow into his beard, black as ink and neatly short and trimmed. His muscles were taught with strain, and he gritted his teeth in silence at the immense effort. _This would be best done alone,_ he'd thought. _Too big a risk to involve others_. Turns out it's a _little_ difficult lowering -yourself- down a thirty foot drop to steal the crown jewels. Well, _jewel_ , really, if you wanted to be extra technical-

He jerked in the air, the force sending his whole body spinning slowly, hanging suspended as he was - like a spider on a lone thread of web in a summer breeze. A drop of sweat had slipped off his nose while he brooded -at a most inopportune time, he's well aware- and nearly plummeted straight in the path of the helmet of one of the many -too many- guards below him.

Luckily he caught it on a thrust of his foot, just in time.

_Nice one Thorin. What was it you called yourself when you decided to come do this ALONE? Ah yes, a 'professional'._

Slowly, much more carefully, he lowered himself the rest of the way down, delicately plucking up the large, shimmering white jewel where it sat on a solitary plush velvet pillow, atop a lone elaborate pedestal.

It was as big as his fist, cut with dozens of facets which caught the tiniest pinpricks of light and turned them into dazzling arcs of every color imaginable. He gazed into it's magnificence, ensnared, but only for a moment. He made to slip it safely into a satchel hanging from his shoulder when one of the guards beneath him hacked a painful sounding cough.

Thorin knew that cough, knew it all too well, and it sent an awful chill down his spine. Not to mention he nearly dropped the jewel at the shock of it, loud and rasping in the silence.

"Croup fever..." he muttered, his face going sad and wistful for a moment, unbidden.

The guard coughed again and answered. "Yes, it's awful."

The guard froze.

Thorin froze.

_Professional my hairy arse!_

The guard turned around and startled back. "Hey! Stop! Thief! Thief in the palace!"

Thorin didn't stick around to watch the other guards turn and shout, chucking the stone into his satchel and hauling himself up the rope as fast as his arms would pull him. "Oh just wait until my sister hears about this," he growled, rolling onto the roof and discarding the rope, tearing across the tiles like a rabbit with a hungry fox at its heels.

 _That's exactly what's happening right now, good going Mister Professional,_ but he'd have time to scold himself when he was safely out of reach.

So the entirety of the palace's protection force was hot on his trail. A minor setback. What mattered was he succeeded! He had the jewel, the _Arkenstone_ , on his person! He ducked around a corner and away from the shouts, and he let out a triumphant one of his own.

_This is going to change everything._

His elation quickly turned into irritation, however, at the sight of his own face staring angrily back at him from a wanted poster nailed to a nearby tree. He tore it off and stared at it sorrowfully.

"Oh no. No no no no _no!"_ he gripped the paper tight in his hands.

"They just _cannot_ get my beard right!" The shouts of the guards picked up again behind him and he bolted, stuffing the poster -depicting his legendary glare fairly accurately EXCEPT for the ridiculous twiddly moustache and awful goatee- into the satchel and disappearing into the waiting forest.

Over hills and under many twisting trees he ran, his low ponytail of dark hair thumping a rhythm on his back. He grinned to himself as the rapidly dying shouts of the guards turned from "Give it up, Oakenshield!" and "No where to run!" to "where is he?!" and "what will we tell the Queen?!"

Leaping over a fallen branch Thorin turned his head back and gave a cheeky salute towards the palace. "Pleasure doing business with you, as always!"

Turned as he was he didn't see the forest floor drop off into a steep cliff until said forest floor was no longer beneath his pounding feet, and he yelped as he was sent tumbling ungracefully down a mossy slope.

He fell like a sack of potatoes, grunting with each _whump_ of his body against the ground. Finally - _finally_ \- the slope evened out to flat ground and he rolled straight through a large, hollow boulder, its entrance shrouded by a curtain of soft green vines. He came to rest flat on his back and just stared skywards, breathing raggedly.

Sluggishly he pat the satchel down, and sighed in relief at the lump of the jewel within. With no small effort he sat up, groaning. He'd ended up in a secluded glen, high rocks all around sheltering a tall, odd-looking tower standing in the grass before him. It looked like a cottage on top of a castle battlement, but it could've looked like a bathtub full of spiders for all Thorin cared. As long as it was empty, he could hide out for a day or two until the heat died down. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, or something equally ridiculous his sister used to say.

He stood up with another whine of pain and straightened his tunic, blue as deep lake water, and picked twigs and leaves out of his disheveled ponytail as he approached the tower.

Up close it was... Well, a lot higher than it looked. There was no ladder or staircase to be found, and Thorin dug in his satchel. "Aha!" He pulled out a couple of steel, sharp-pointed shafts that he'd used in the past for picking rather large locks. They looked ridiculous, he would admit, but they had proved their usefulness. And they did so again now, as he jammed them between the stones that made up the tower wall, one after the other and over again, climbing up.

He hauled himself over the windowsill -unlocked, thank goodness- and took a cautious look around. No lights, no sound, no movement.

Heaving out a breath he plucked the jewel from where it rested, wanting to stare into its gleaming riot of color once more. Just for a moment, to admire the craftsmanship, you understand. It was not simple greed which fueled Thorin's escapade that day. No, this jewel had a much bigger part to play in his story, and there was no harm admiring it aesthetically while he caught his breath. It _had_ nearly gotten him caught, after all.

"You'd better be worth the trouble," he told it, and he turned to find a place to sit down for a minute when-

_BAM!_

The back of his head exploded with pain and everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, stuff you liked, stuff you didn't, what you're excited about! Thank you for reading! :) 
> 
> Also there's a song lyric in there somewhere that I reworded a bit, points to you if you find it! ;)


	3. A Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY this took so long. I really am. I had a really stressful situation happen out of nowhere that really sucked away my creative drive, but I'm getting it back slowly but surely. You know how life is. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I just wanna say that this won't have a regular updating schedule, and I'm very sorry about that, but do feel free to bookmark it and come back when it's done! Though I would greatly enjoy feedback, so maybe read it now AND bookmark it! But of course the choice is yours, dear reader c: 
> 
> I also forgot to mention that [here](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/61/Holland_lop_bunny.JPG) is what CeCe looks like, and it is short for something, you'll find out for what later c;

Bilbo stood over the unconscious body sprawled across his floor, his chest heaving and a frying pan in his raised hands. He'd let out a quite undignified shriek and grabbed the closest and heaviest thing to him to defend himself, almost tripping over one of the many strips of his hair draped around the room in his fright. Thankfully the man, for yes, Bilbo knew enough to deduce that much so far, went out like a light and didn't seem to be waking up anytime soon.

He gulped. "CeCe what do I do?! Who is that and why is he here?!" he hissed a frantic whisper at the rabbit in question, who hesitantly crept forward and sniffed the man's hand before looking back at him with eyes as wide as Bilbo's and shrugging as well as a rabbit could manage.

"Does he... smell dangerous..?" CeCe gave him a deadpan look.

"Alright, dumb question." Steeling himself and tightening his grip on his 'weapon', he crept closer, bending to inspect the man's face. CeCe squeaked and bared her teeth when Bilbo looked her way.

"Ah, yes, what had father said? Sharp teeth.." With the handle of the frying pan he poked at the man's mouth -noting the hair on his face, what a strange sight!- and parted his lips to reveal short, flat white teeth, no different than Bilbo's own.

"Oh," he spoke on a breath of relief. The man had black hair that was longer than fathers, and it was all... crinkly, wavy but much more so than his own. It probably went down around his shoulders when it wasn't fastened at the base of his neck as it was.

The force of the blow must've mussed it, though -Bilbo felt himself flush- because a lock had come loose and lay draped across the man's eyes. Very _very_ carefully Bilbo brushed the hair away with the pan handle, revealing surprisingly soft features. The man's skin was darker than his, tanned, like he spent a great deal of time outside. That thought alone was scandalously exciting, and he bent even closer, taking him in.

A large, sharp nose he could see, smushed against the rug as it was. There was quite a lot of hair on his face, thick and dark in the eyebrows and strangely surrounding his mouth and creeping up his cheeks and down his chin. He didn't even know people _could_ grow hair on their faces, himself and his father never experiencing such a thing. He'd have to ask him about it.

 _Ask him about it?! You're going to speak to him now?!_ Bilbo shook his head, worry overpowering his curiosity. What was his plan for when he inevitably _did_ wake up? He knew he hadn't _killed_ him, the stars forbid, as he could hear the tiniest puffs of breath every few seconds escaping the man's parted lips. He looked... peaceful, almost like he was a particularly lively picture in one of his books.

 _Pictures in books can't sneak into your home and murder you,_ he reminded himself. CeCe seemed to be thinking the same thing, and she nudged his foot to get him stop _staring_ and get to a safe distance. As if to prove her point the man's eye that was visible fluttered open, and he groaned. It was ice blue and utterly enchanting, but instincts seemed to have taken over and, well-

_BAM!_

You could say he panicked.

  
\--------------

  
After a pep talk with CeCe Bilbo decided that he could not, under any circumstances, leave this strange man unconscious on his living room floor for his father to see when he returned. This had to be handled with no small amount of _finesse_ if we was going to be able to use this to his advantage.

That left him with the problem of hiding him.

It wasn't as if there wasn't a place to put him, the wardrobe in the corner by the tall mirror was a perfect, large enough space and somewhere his father rarely got into. _That_ wasn't the problem. The problem was _getting him into it_. It had taken him more than a few -probably painful for _him_ , when he wakes up- tries, and to be fair he was much taller and broader than Bilbo himself was.

He sat against the wardrobe doors, held shut by a chair wedged up against them, and panted, CeCe in his lap doing the same. He picked her up under her little arms and raised her to eye level.

"Well old girl, there's no going back now. We are _going_ to see those lights." He put her down and stood up, a new determination lighting a fire in his chest. He met his own gaze fiercely in the mirror, picking up the frying pan where he'd discarded it.

"A fragile little daisy, eh father? I just took out a strange man twice my size with a frying pan, but you know, all in a day's work for _fragile_ Bilbo-" He spun the pan in his hand, the suave effect totally lost when it connected with his cheekbone and he winced.

He rubbed at the sore spot, hushing a quietly chuckling CeCe, and his eyes caught something in the mirror, something glimmering in the shaft of sunlight that draped across the room. He bent and picked it up, and when he straightened again, meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he gasped.

He stood at his tallest, shoulders squared, his hair draped in loops around him. He cradled the thing in his hands, a huge white jewel as big as an apple. It caught the light and split it into every color in the rainbow, making every surface that it landed on sparkle and glimmer almost too intense to look at. It made his hair shine like liquid gold splashed across the room, and the whole image seem... regal. Ethereal. He broke his own gaze and looked to CeCe, who looked just as shell-shocked, until she shook her little head and twitched her nose.

"What do you think it is...?" He turned it about it in his hands and nearly dropped it when he heard a shout from outside.

"Bilbo! I have a surprise for you, my flower!"

Bilbo made a startled _eeep!_ and looked around frantically, snatching up the abandoned satchel that the jewel must have fallen out of and shoving it back _into_ it, then panicking some more until he shoved the whole mess into a pot by the stairs.

"Bilbo, I'm not getting any younger down here," He sounded like he could either follow that with a teasing chuckle or a glare like a judge condemning a guilty man, and it always set Bilbo on edge.

"Ah- coming father!" he gave a quick glance to the wardrobe where the strange man was -hopefully- still unconscious inside. "And I've got a surprise for you too.." he said quietly, almost to himself.

He hurried over to the window and let his hair down, dutifully hauling his father up smooth as pudding. He was huffing a bit as he started speaking before Smaug could start. "So father, I know you said no, but see something's happened, and I think-"

"I brought cinnamon! So we can bake your favorite tea cakes for after dinner, surprise!" Bilbo's efforts, of course, did not stop him from simply starting his sentence in the middle of Bilbo's. He sighed and put on a smile as his father waved a hand elegantly over the little bundle of cinnamon sticks indeed nestled in his basket.

"Thank you father, that's wonderful! Now about that thing that happened. See, you said I wouldn't be able to handle myself out there, but-!"

"Bilbo," his father cut in, low and drawn out, leaning away from laughter and towards executioner. "I hope you aren't talking about the stars again, because I distinctly remember _dropping the subject._ " he punctuated his words with the thud of the cake pan he'd taken out of a nearby cupboard, dropping it onto the wooden tabletop.

" _Magic lights,_ and yes, if you'd just listen-"

"Bilbo we are done talking about this."

"But father _please_ , I can show you, I can _do_ this if you'd just-" he inched closer and closer to the wardrobe, an arm reaching out and almost touching the handle-

_"ENOUGH!"_

Bilbo recoiled immediately, pulling his arms in towards his chest and shrinking a good two inches, the fear shining in his eyes.

"You are NOT leaving this tower! EVER!"

Smaug had whirled around to face Bilbo, his fists clenched and his face twisted in the closest thing to a _snarl_ that Bilbo had ever seen on him. A silence hung heavy between them for a full minute, Smaug's chest heaving and Bilbo's eyes glued to his father, hands nervously wringing at his hair again of their own accord.

Eventually Smaug heaved a sigh, his shoulder's squaring up straight again, and his face smoothed into a carefully crafted mask of regret. "Great, now I'm the big bad fire-breathing dragon, hmm?" he slumped down into his big plush chair and rubbed a long-fingered hand across his brow.

Bilbo stared down at his feet for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking quietly. "I was.. I was just going to say that, I think I know what I want for my birthday now.." he gave the best smile he could muster, small and fragile and a bit watery as he looked back up at his father. "Some new gardening tools, made from strong iron like you brought back from the East Markets once? Mine have dulled, and, I just thought.. it's a better idea than the magic lights."

Smaug blinked one long, slow blink before speaking. "Bilbo, flower, that's a very long trip. Are you sure? It's nearly four days' time." Bilbo nodded, and Smaug sighed, standing once again and making his way over to him.

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?" His arms came to slowly wrap Bilbo in an embrace, one reaching up to stroke his hair gently.

Bilbo tucked his head against Smaug's chest and didn't meet his eyes. "I'll be fine, safe and sound up here."

Smaug gazed lovingly at the golden strands beneath his touch. "Then it shall be done. I love you very much, my flower."

"Love you more," Bilbo murmured.

"And I love you most." With a small kiss to the top of his head Smaug released him and went to drape his heavy cloak back around himself. "I'll ba back in four days' time. Do make that cake if you like, we can share it when I return." Another wan smile from Bilbo and then he was at the window, lowering his father down with his shimmering waves as Smaug shouted his goodbyes.

He stood at the sill and watched him go, waiting until he was through the hidden passage out of the glen and out of sight, and then counting to a hundred before he rushed over to the wardrobe. With one last determined look shared with CeCe, who'd hopped out from under the stairs where she'd been hiding, he reached out slowly and opened the wardrobe door, taking a deep breath and hoping beyond hope that this was going to work out.

  
\--------------

  
When Thorin opened his eyes it was to a dark room and a pounding headache. He had to blink a few times to get everything to come into focus, lose the blurry haze around the edges. He moved to press fingers against his temples and found that he couldn't move his arms. He couldn't move his legs either, come to think of it. He jerked his limbs and they held fast to the chair he was sitting in. When had he sat down? _Where am I..?_

He finally had the good sense to look down and investigate, and saw that he was lashed to a sturdy wooden chair with thick cords of straw-gold, gently wavy...

"Is this... hair?" He slurred out loud, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. A voice in the shadows before him made him jump.

"Who- ahem, w-who are you and how did you find this place?" He- Thorin assumed the person was a he, sounded as unsure of things as he was.

"Huh?"

The voice huffed, "Struggling is pointless, you-you can't get out unless I let you out."

Thorin squinted into the darkness. His head really did hurt. The voice continued, gaining a little more confidence.

"I don't know who you are but I know what you came here for and, well, you can't have it!" He could see whoever it was waving something shakily in front of them in the dark, and they stepped forward slowly into the light as they spoke again.

"I-I said, hm, who are you and how did you find this place?"

"You've got to be kidding me." The man -well, boy, really, that much he could tell now- was wielding a _frying pan_ , of all things, like a sword, held stiffly at arms length, and he had a smallish lump of a rabbit at his heels who was, unless Thorin was severely concussed (which in all honesty was a strong possibility because _lord_ did his head hurt), _glaring_ at him.

The boy huffed again, loosening his grip on his weapon in favor of putting his hands in his hips in indignation. "What?"

Thorin let the question hang unanswered, though, as he finally looked up into the stranger's face. His eyes, though scrunched under his eyebrows in irritation, shone a deep grey-green in the light, and he had a snub nose that probably had a tendency to scrunch up as much as the rabbit's, he could tell already. His skin was pale and smooth, unmarked, and he reminded Thorin a bit of a rosy-cheeked porcelaine doll. Like he'd never seen the sun.

He was, well, beautiful.

His hair was like spun gold, falling to the floor and farther in spilling waves, draped around as much of the room as he could see from his position... He snapped his jaw shut and shook his head, regretting it immediately.

"Is this _your_ hair?" Apparently that was not the right question to ask, as the stranger hefted his weapon again, at the ready.

"I know you're here to take it, b-but I have you trapped! There's nothing you can do, so just, just forget it!"

Thorin was confused. _Very_ confused. Last thing he knew he was finally taking a breather, after successfully making off with the Arkenstone in one piece-

"The stone! Where is it? Where's my satchel?" The kid's rambling could wait for a minute. He did _not_ come this far to have the stone taken from him and used as a sparkly paperweight by some kid who's delusional about hair-thieves coming to get him.

The stranger looked confused, before lighting up in recognition. "Ah. Yes, well, I've hidden it. I have some questions, and you won't see head nor tail of your things until I've asked all of them!" CeCe nudged his foot. "And- and you've answered them!"

Thorin rolled his eyes. He did _not_ have time for this. He had to get back, what if the guards were still searching for him? _Well,_ he thought, _the sooner I get out of here the sooner I can get back._

"Fine," he said gruffly, "ask away."

The stranger looked surprised at that, like he was expecting to have to whip out a _crockpot_ or something even _more_ threatening.

"What is your name?"

"Oakenshield. Thorin Oakenshield." He spoke his name as menacingly as he could, hoping the kid had heard of him and would speed this along. He wasn't so lucky, for the boy seemed unphased.

"How did you find me?" _Yep, there it is. The nose scrunch._ Thorin didn't quite know what to think about how he called that one a mile away. He sighed. Might as well tell the kid the truth.

"Look, kid-"

"Bilbo."

Thorin blinked. "Okay, _Bilbo_ \- honestly it was completely by accident. I was in a... predicament, I was chased, I ran blindly through the forest and I stumbled through a big rock and saw this place. I figured I could hide out for a while, catch my breath and maybe find some fresh water nearby. That's it. I had no idea someone _lived_ up here."

"You.. You don't want my hair?" He lowered the pan again, genuinely confused, and Thorin was hopeful that they were getting somewhere.

"No- why would I want your hair? All I want right now is to get _out_ of it." _Seriously, this_ can't _be normal._

The kid- Bilbo, stared at him for a moment, unsure, and then he turned and knelt to the floor, having a heated, whispered debate with the _rabbit_. He rolled his eyes again. _I am never getting out of here._

Eventually he stood back up, squaring his shoulders and putting on a stern expression which did not suit his round face. "Alright, Thorin Oakenshield, I'm prepared to offer you a deal."

Well _that_ certainly wasn't what he was expecting to hear. "A deal? What kind of deal?"

Bilbo said nothing, just gestured to a painting high up on the wall, heavy purple drapery framing it on either side, before continuing. "Do you know what these are?"

Thorin squinted up at the painting, picking out the bright, swirling colors on the night sky backdrop. "You mean the _fireworks_ display they do every year for the Lost Prince?" the word was spat like a dirty word, his features being clouded by a brief flash of anger that Bilbo didn't notice, bent as he was to scoop up the rabbit into his arms.

"Fireworks! I _knew_ they weren't stars!" He said it to himself mostly, secondly to the rabbit, and not to Thorin at all, probably.

"Ahem?" Thorin cleared his throat, wanting to get to the point.

"Hmm? Oh! yes, right." The absolutely blinding grin that had slowly grown on his face at the talk of the fireworks slipped off, replaced by the in-charge demeanor of earlier. He may not have truly seen the sun on his skin, but it's light shines true in his smile, bright and burning and more _alive_ than anything Thorin had ever seen. He found himself aching the loss of it, and promptly gave himself a mental slap, his brain stumbling back into reality just in time to hear Bilbo continue. "Tomorrow night they will light up the sky with these _fireworks_ , and you will take me to them. You will escort me there, I'll finally get to see them up close, and then you'll escort me back home, safe and sound. Then and _only_ then will I return your satchel to you. That is the deal."

He crossed his arms and looked smug, while Thorin could swear smoke was coming out of his own ears. He squeezed the arms of the chair in his fists -still _irritatingly_ covered in _human hair_ \- and met Bilbo's eyes. "While that's adorable and all, the Palace and I don't exactly get along right now, so I'm afraid I can't help you."

Bilbo's smug look didn't go away as he merely stepped forward and, looping a length of hair over his fist, tugged on it sharply, hooking around a leg of the chair and sending him tipping forward until he was caught from smashing into the ground face-first by only Bilbo's hand bracing him just next to his head. Later Thorin will deny having let out any sort of undignified yelp. When he spoke again it was just inches in front of Thorin's face, and he gulped, despite himself.

"Listen, _Thorin Oakenshield,_ you stumbled into my tower for a reason, whether you call it fate, or destiny, or whatever else, and to me that means something." He looked wistful for a moment. "I've been sitting up here, waiting my whole life for an adventure and here you come, bringing one right to my doorstep. This is the only way we both get what we want, Thorin. You can tear this place apart, brick by brick, _splinter by splinter_ , but without me you will _never_ find your satchel. He looked into those big green eyes and saw the same fire from earlier rekindling, not harsh or angry, just... honest. Thorin knew what determination looked like, he was intimately familiar with that. But he'd nearly forgotten what _hope_ looked like, and he saw it sparkling there, deep inside Bilbo's gaze.

He knew he was breaking, and fast, and he pulled out all the stops for his last-ditch attempt to get out of this. "Alright, you've left me no choice." Bilbo let the chair fall back down on all four legs and Thorin saw the hope grow, _damn it this better work, I can't take much more of that-!_

"I'm going to have to unleash... The Blizzard." He hid his face for a moment, staring at the ground, and when he leveled it back up at Bilbo he had contorted on his face the coldest, most frigid, hard-lined glare he could muster. Any lesser man would have been sent squealing for his mother, or at the _very_ least quaking in his boots. But, it would seem that fate was not on his side, for Bilbo looked almost _bored_.

"You done?"

He held it for a second longer before dropping it and scowling. Many things could be said of Thorin Oakenshield, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. _Though there are quite a few people who'd argue the opposite_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully, sounding quite a lot like his sister.

"Argh, fine! Fine. I'll take you to see the fireworks, then you give me back my satchel and we never have to see each other again."

Bilbo grinned that white-hot grin again, aimed straight for him this time, green eyes locking joyfully with ice blue, and Thorin could almost forget why he'd said no in the first place.

  
\--------------

  
Why oh _why_ hadn't he just held firm and said no?

Thorin was stood under the shade of a tree, arms crossed tight across his chest and scowling in Bilbo's general direction.

The second his bare feet had touched the grass he broke out in a fit of near-hysterical giggles, picking up an equally excited CeCe and spinning her around in his arms before bolting every which way, splashing in the creek nearby, touching _every single flower_ he passed gently, actually _hugging_ the gnarled old willow that Thorin was stood under.

"Oh Thorin this is amazing! It's all so- so! _Here!"_ He giggled and scaled the tree clumsily, rustling a few leaves loose to fall into Thorin's hair, who brushed them off with a huff.

"Yes, well, that's sort of what 'here' means..." He grumbled. Instead of replying Bilbo froze, falling backwards off the branch he was perched on to hang upside down right in Thorin's face.

"Oh no... No no no this is bad! I shouldn't be here! Father will _roast me alive_ if he ever finds out-" he flipped a complete 180, burying his hands in his hair and turning from where he'd been lamenting off into space to stare frantically into Thorin's eyes. "Does this make me a bad son? Oh surely it does, I'm the worst son in the world he'll never forgive me..."

He slipped an inch lower all of a sudden and Thorin started, placing his hands tentatively on his shoulders, holding him up.

"Father-? Hey no come on, it's normal to kids not to obey their parents every once in a while. Don't tell me you _always_ do _exactly_ what you're told?"

Bilbo looked down -which was actually _up_ , at the tree branches, and looked back to Thorin, not answering.

"Oh boy." He dropped his hands and Bilbo yelped as he swung to right himself, landing (barely) on his feet. "You've really never left that tower before today?" Bilbo bashfully shook his head. "Ever?" he shot him a glare.

"Alright alright.. Well he can't expect you to stay up there _forever_ , I mean, that's ridiculous." Bilbo still hadn't said another word and Thorin kicked himself. They were wasting time here, either this was gonna happen or it wasn't, and Thorin needed to get this show on the road.

He approached Bilbo slowly and spoke softly, "Hey, come on. Look at me." Bilbo met his gaze, his conflicting emotions crashing like waves behind his eyes. They both looked up past the shade of the tree as a raven flew by, croaking as it soared out of the glen. Thorin placed what he hoped was an encouraging hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "Every bird has to leave the nest some time. It's only natural, you can't be blamed for learning to fly." What was he _doing?_ He _should_ be convincing the kid that the damn ground will split open if he leaves, make him never want to step foot outside his tower again so he can get his stuff back and _leave_ but- He actually kinda wanted the kid to get to see his fireworks. Locked away, a prisoner of your own upbringing and dreaming a lifetime of dreams of the greener grass on the other side? That was no way to live. Thorin should know.

_You have obligations, Thorin. You can't go frolicking around with some bright-eyed child when you have plans to set in motion. People to come home to._

He exhaled loudly through his nose, shaking his head to clear out _his own_ conflicting emotions, and thankfully Bilbo was still caught up with his.

Bilbo stared at him intently for a moment, then back up at the sky. CeCe squeaked from the ground and took a deep breath, nodding to himself. "You are absolutely right, Thorin. I'm eighteen years old, I am _not_ a child anymore. And I think it's high time I did something about it!" He wielded the frying pan that Thorin hadn't remembered him taking from the tower high in his hand, standing as tall as he could and still only coming up to about Thorin's shoulder.

"Yeah that's the spirit. Right then, shall we?" He took a few long strides towards the forest wall, Bilbo following behind and only trembling a _little_ bit. They came to stop side by side at the dense expanse of trees spread out before them, about to brave the unknown when a rustling in the bushes sent Bilbo leaping onto the nearest thing with a frightened shriek. "What is it?! Thieves? _Ruffians?!"_

The nearest thing of course happened to be Thorin, who only just managed to catch Bilbo and all his flailing limbs as a tiny gecko waddled out from a nearby bush, blinking slowly at them before carrying on with its business.

Thorin gave Bilbo a deadpan stare, still holding him in his arms, and Bilbo blushed up to his ears before releasing his vice-grip of Thorin's shoulders, dropping to the ground and giving a forced laugh as he patted down his pale green vest.

"Sorry, ah, I suppose I'm a bit... jumpy?"

"Uh-huh." He smirked down at him. "I suppose it'd be best if we avoid 'thieves and ruffians' though, huh?"

Bilbo laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "That would be preferable, yes." He scooped CeCe up into his arms and held her close.

Thorin paused. _That gives me an idea..._ He straightened up and parted the branches in their way. "We'd best be off! Are you getting hungry? There's this place I know, _excellent_ cinnamon spiced apple crumble.." _Please let this work._ This was taking far too long and stirring up _far_ too many emotions for Thorin to deal with currently.

Bilbo perked up. "Oh cinnamon is my _favorite!"_

"You don't say..." Just like that the pair (plus one rabbit) ventured on and out of the glen, the forest swallowing them up without a sound.

  
\--------------

  
Smaug picked his way carefully through bramble bushes and poison ivy, cursing at each snag in his cloak.

 _He's never asked to leave the tower before, why now?_ Hadn't he done a fair job of teaching him just what will happen to him if he does? A beetle skittered out of the underbrush and he crushed it underfoot without a moment's hesitation. He hadn't even entertained the idea of Bilbo wanting to leave, certain that he'd do as he's told and be none the wiser of the world outside their tower.

_Obviously he is not as loyal to me as I thought._

He pressed on, over a moldy fallen branch and under a low-hanging cluster of vines, but seeing nothing. _He said he's been observing the fireworks, does that mean he's been planning to leave this whole time? How far back does the uncertainty go?_ He felt as though a stone had settled deep in the pit of his stomach. _He can't leave. I won't_ let _him leave. I will NOT lose my flower!_

He went to take another step and found he couldn't move any further, not with the seed of doubt growing greedily now in his mind. He heard the soft murmur of rushing water nearby and pushing through yet more brambles he found himself standing on the bank of the river that he'd have to cross in order to continue on to the East Markets. Taking only a moment to make up his mind, he took the pack off his back and upended it over the sloshing stream, watching with cold eyes as the apples and wrapped loaves of bread that would serve as his provisions for the trip were swallowed up by the water. Smiling a smile like slowly twisted metal Smaug righted the pack on his back and turned around, marching with with quick and determined steps back towards the tower.

The sun was just about finished setting when he stumbled through the hidden entrance, rushing up to the tower and calling out, his voice tinged with mania. "Bilbo! let down your hair! I was crossing the stream and slipped, lost all my food- Bilbo! _BILBO!"_ The tower stood dark and unmoving above him, utterly silent.

Frantic, now, Smaug let out a roar of anger and doubled around to the back of the tower, ripping away the vines that had grown over it's base. Revealing cobbled stone he felt for the arch and dug his hands between the stones, pulling them away bit by bit and panting with the effort. With the opening made he clambered up a hidden staircase, shoving cobwebs out of his eyes as he came up under a false tile in the main room of the tower. He hauled himself up and stood panting in the darkened room, the entire structure shrouded in still darkness.

"Bilbo? Bilbo this isn't funny-!" He dashed up the steps to Bilbo's room and ripped the blanket from his bed, revealing only a handful of pillows.

 _"Bilbo!"_ He shouted for him over and over again, darting in and out of every room but coming out with only more panic rising in his throat, tasting like bile on his tongue.

He scanned the room, no idea what to do or where to look or where to _start_ , when the moonlight glinted off of something tucked just under the bottom stair. He tilted his head like a reptile and bent to inspect it, pulling out a weather-stained satchel. He reached in and his hand closed around the cool, heavy weight of the stone. His blood ran cold as he lifted it out and he gasped when it caught the light, the satchel clattering to the floor out of his slackened grip.

The Arkenstone.

 _He knows, he KNOWS! No, impossible, he can't know, no one does. Then_   _HOW_ -

Gripping the thing in his fist he glanced to the floor, a slip of paper having fluttered out of the satchel and came to rest face up, staring him dead in the face. His blood went from ice cold to boiling as he stared at the rumpled wanted poster at his feet, the face of Thorin Oakenshield staring up at him with a ridiculously shaved beard.

Thinking fast, he shoved the stone and the poster back into the bag and slung it over his shoulder, speeding over to a side table. He opened a drawer and pulled out a long, silver dagger, it's sharpened blade glinting cold in the moonlight. Stashing it away on his person, he lifted his hood over his head and, with a look that could send any self-preserving creature fleeing to shelter and out of his way, he descended the hidden stairs and vanished, leaving the tower behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a BLAST to write, and I'm sorry again it took so long. I'll try and be faster about it, with your guys' encouragement!


	4. A Splash in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get these out faster, I've got a good groove going, I hope you guys are enjoying the story! 
> 
> WARNING: some violence and mentions of injury in this chapter, look out for that!

After what seemed to Bilbo like an awfully long stretch of trudging through the dense forest the pair finally stumbled out into a clearing, at the other end of which was nestled a cozy-looking wooden building. A sign was hanging above the door and swinging gently in the autumn breeze, the words "The Mountain Hall" carved into the soft wood and painted a rusty red color, faded by the elements. Gazing back past the building and through the surrounding underbrush he could see that, true to it's name, the place was sat right at the foot of a rather tall mountain, rising slowly but steadily up behind the structure.

Thorin panted a little and gestured widely to the building as Bilbo struggled to free his hair from the snagging bushes and brambles, every inch of the golden locks matted and littered with twigs, leaves, and splotches of mud. "Here we are, our dining destination."

Bilbo gathered as much hair into his arms as he could and stepped forward hesitantly, looking over the place warily. "What is it?" CeCe trotted up next to him and tilted her head, her ears flopping to one side.

"It's a tavern. A very friendly establishment, wonderful entrees." He tried to keep the snark from his voice, he _really_ did. He mostly succeeded, too. This seemed to convince Bilbo, his face brightening as he started to march purposefully towards the door, only to be stopped after a few steps by one of Thorin's palms flat on his chest. "Woah there, hold on Blondie," he ignored the kid's indignant _Bilbo, thank you very much-!_ and continued, "I should probably go in first, you know, to check the place out and make sure they've got a table for us. You just stay here for a moment and I'll be right back." He met his eyes, waiting for Bilbo's small nod, and then he quickly walked up and swung open the great round wooden door, slipping inside.

He had barely a moment to gather his thoughts, pressed up against the back of the closed door, before a heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder and up billowed a chorus of booming voices shouting his name.

"Thorin! Finally you turned up, we were starting to think you'd been caught!" The hand squeezed his shoulder hard and Thorin frantically shushed the rowdy group. The man carried on, his voice dropping lower, tinged with concern. "What's wrong? You did get it, didn't you?"

" _Yes_ , I got it Dwalin, but listen, I don't technically _have_ it at this moment." Voices started to rise again in confusion and he shushed them again, a high-pitched hiss of breath, glancing out a dirty window to where Bilbo stood fiddling with his hair. "I'll explain everything, eventually, but for now I need you guys to act _mean_. I'm not alone at the moment, and if you all don't scare the living daylights out of my friend out there then this is going to take a whole lot longer than it should." He met his friend's eyes and gave him a hard stare, pleading with him to understand. "We can't afford to wait any longer."

It was _Dwalin_ he was talking to, after all, and that meant he didn't have to ask twice before gaining his full, unwavering support in the blink of an eye. He met his stare just as deeply, then, after a moment, gave a brisk nod and shouted above the racket, "Alright lads, whoever comes in that door after Thorin just pissed in your ale and is askin' you t'drink it, understood?" Like Dwalin, the rest of their group were as loyal as they come, and eager for any opportunity to have a good laugh to boot, and with as little information as Thorin gave them they were grinning and snickering into their un-spoilt drinks, up to the task.

Thorin heaved a breath of relief and gave the room a wink before slinking back out the door, coming back in a quick minute later with a wide-eyed Bilbo at his heels.

  
Walking into the tavern Bilbo was struck with the sinking feeling that this was not how "friendly neighborhood restaurants" usually felt. He let Thorin lead the way, still wary of this whole _adventure_ he'd decided was a good idea, and trailed behind him, bundles of hair in his arms piled up to his nose. He peered over it at the men standing in rigid lines on either side of them, varying heights but all of them taller than Bilbo, and all of them with a nasty scowl on their face and a wicked glint in their eye. CeCe moved from where she was perched on his shoulder to burrow into the locks in his arms to escape their jagged glares. Bilbo rather wished he could join her. _Come on now, none of that! It's gonna take a lot more than cold shoulders in some dingey roadhouse to keep me from seeing those lights,_ he reprimanded himself and stood a little taller as they inched deeper into the warmth of the den, the only sound the shuffling of their feet and the crackling of a wood fire in a pit set against the far wall.

He met as many glares as he could, with as steely a resolve as he could muster with mud on his face and twigs in his hair, and was proud when he didn't trip over his own feet with his nerves. He finally snapped his gaze from a tall, muscular man covered in tattoos who was very menacingly sharpening an axe when Thorin called to him from ahead.

"Blondie! Come look at this, this man has an axe in his head! Just stuck right in there, come over here and ask him if you can touch it." The aforementioned man growled something at him then that he couldn't understand and slammed a thick fist against his own chest, some other men nearby snickering when it made Bilbo jump.

Observing the show with a manic glint in his eye, a short, gangly man wrung his pale, spindly hands together and ducked out the door, careful to remain unseen. Not a single head turned at his exit and a sly grin crept over his snaggly teeth as he slunk away and out of sight.

"My my, what have we got here, lads?" Bilbo gasped and spun on his heels, _nice try at_ not _acting like a frightened little town mouse_ , bumping firmly into the chest of a man with an earring made of bone and a strange, dog-eared hat askew on his head.

Bilbo gulped and took a step back, squaring his shoulders as best he could through his fear. "I'm- my name is B-Bilbo Baggins, hm, and- and I'm on my way to see the m-magic lights." He jutted out his chin, and for all that his voice wavered he stood as tall as he could manage, shuffling the bundles of hair in his hands.

The man stared him up and down, stepping closer so that he was looming over him. He took in a deep, slow breath through his nose and Bilbo fought the urge to close his eyes and brace for whatever was coming next.

He blinked more than once in confusion when instead of a shout- or, stars forbid, the swing of an arm- the man deflated, slouching his shoulders and placing a mitted hand on one of Bilbo's shoulders heavily.

"I'm sorry Thorin, I can't do it. Just look at that face! Where did you find this lad, anyway?" The man took his hand from Bilbo's shoulder and put both of them on his knees, cocking his head and squinting at him. "He looks like a wee canary on his first flight from the nest." When he met Bilbo's eyes again they were kind, warm even. He let his head fall to one side and scrunched up his nose in confusion, jumping when that garnered _actual cooing_ from somewhere in the throng of previously threatening men. He whipped around to stare at Thorin, hoping he could convey whatever four question marks and a handful of exclamation marks looked like with his face alone.

Thorin was still standing next to the man with the head injury, who now wore an openly curious expression, and was pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

"Thorin..?"

"Nothing, it's nothing. These uh, these are my friends, I didn't know they'd be here today." Bilbo turned back towards the group before them after a beat, reminding himself to bring up exactly _what_ just happened to Thorin later.

"Terribly sorry about that laddie, y'never know what sorts are roaming around these hills, never hurts to be cautious." A shorter man stepped through the ring and stood in front of Bilbo, his eyes crinkled in a warm smile and his forked white beard swaying as he walked. He looked to Bilbo what a grandfather must look like, if he'd actually met someone's grandfather to compare him to. He stuck out a hand and shot Thorin a hard look over Bilbo's shoulder, his smile back in place an instant later. "Balin, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, a-at yours, I suppose." He shifted the loops of hair in his arms to free a hand to shake Balin's and noted several noises of curiosity from the group.

The muscular man from before stepped forward, his arms crossed and his expression no less stern than when they walked in the door. "And what brings you here, Mister Baggins?" his tone was like the stone of the mountain beneath them, hard and cold. "How d'you know Thorin?"

Bilbo cleared his throat and twisted fistfulls of hair in his hands. _Alright Bilbo, time to really sell it. Don't muck it up, or they could still potentially decide to throw you in a pot with some radishes and have a 'naive adventurer' soup._ "He's my guide, you see. It's my birthday tomorrow, and he's taking me to see the magic lights, as I said." He looked down at CeCe's encouraging look peeking out from the golden tresses in his arms and smiled softly. "It's been my dream, for as long as I can remember."

The tattooed man said nothing, just clenched his jaw and stared at Thorin before nodding once and stepping around Bilbo to go and stand by his side.

The man with the hat piped up from where he'd gone to sit at the bar, the rest of the men slowly dispersing to sit around rickety wooden tables scattered around the room, eyes still hardly leaving Bilbo.

"Ah, I had a dream once, m'self."

Bilbo perked up, glad for the change in subject to anything but _himself_. "What was it?"

"I always thought I'd grow up and own a toy shop with Bifur over there," He raised his drink to the man with the axe in his head who muttered something unintelligible, eyes downcast. "Quite good with our hands, we are. Whittlin' and that. When I was a lad I had the _best_ spinney-tops, thanks to him." He was smiling, but it was muted and far away, and it didn't reach his eyes.

"Why didn't you?" his voice was a quiet light in the dark silence that had blanketed the tavern at the man's melancholy musings. Behind him he could hear Thorin sigh and the muscular man almost growl. The man with the hat just met his eyes for a moment before taking the hat _off_ , scratching his head idly and fiddling with the ratty edges.

"Because it doesn't pay enough. Hardly anything does 'round here, y'don't really have much of a choice in career when there's no food on the table." Several of the other patrons murmured their agreement into their drinks, the mood turning the room cold.

Bilbo looked around the room, taking in the wistful expressions and sad eyes all around him before settling back on the man at the bar. "I'm, I'm so sorry.. Did all of you have to give up your dreams to survive?" Not having enough to eat was never a problem for Bilbo, his father went out and brought back ample supplies regularly, and up in his tower he'd had everything he'd ever needed. He'd always felt a fair bit confined, trapped within it's walls, but he was starting to realize the other areas in which he was lucky, luckier than the people sitting around him.

He looked around the room again, meeting each of their eyes with what he hoped was quiet respect, his heart heavy. When he landed on Balin the man spoke up. "I always imagined I'd be quite good as a book keeper, maybe a writer." He shook his head when Bilbo blinked in silent question.

A man spoke up across the table from him, thick red hair like a mane around his head and face. "I thought I'd make a great accountant, but there's not much use in counting when it can all be done on one hand how much you have to last the month." He huffed and took an angry swig of his drink as another man spoke, scoffing.

"I had no _clue_ what I wanted to do with my life. Didn't have to decide, turns out. Was just pure luck I turned out to be better at taking than earning." He spluttered into his own drink as an older, grey haired gentleman sitting beside him smacked the back of his pointed head.

Bilbo didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He tried to convey as much sympathy as he felt through his gaze, and he startled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"Things have never been easy for us; these people have given up so much more than they should ever have had to," Thorin's voice was low and even, just next to his ear. He sighed again, sounding resolute. "If anyone's dream is going to come true, it may as well be yours." He smiled down at him, just a slight upturn of the corners of his lips, but it warmed Bilbo to his core, chasing away the cold that had seeped into his bones.

He found himself smiling back far too easily.

Voices piped up louder now, latching onto the hope that Bilbo brought with him, all in gracious support of a man they'd tried to scare the wits out of not fifteen minutes earlier. _What strange company Thorin Oakenshield_ keeps, he thought to himself, failing to contain the shy grin that broke out at the cheer.

Thorin raised a hand to quiet the din and took his hand off of Bilbo's shoulder, leaving the skin tingling beneath his shirt. "I suppose some introductions are in order..." He went around the room and named them all, friends and brothers and cousins and all like family to Thorin, if their comfortable jokes and jibes were anything to go by. The man with the hat, Bofur, he was called, tugged on one of the plaits in his hair as he caught his breath after some remark about Dwalin naming his axes after his childhood pets, Bilbo shuffling the -quite heavy- hair in his arms again and piping up.

"Um, Bofur? Excuse me, but how is your hair done up like that? Do you think, well, possibly, could you... do mine?" He dropped his tresses to the floor for emphasis, and he was buried up to his knees in filthy, matted bundles.

Bofur blinked and barked out a laugh, tugging on his hair again. "I reckon we can fix you up nice there, Mister Bilbo. Dori! Oin! Lend us a hand will you? Dwalin, grab a bucket!"

Bilbo could only watch as his hair was scrubbed and rinsed in a series of buckets, the twigs and debris picked out of it carefully and thoroughly, his stuttered _o-only if it isn't too much trouble!_ and _oh really you are all too kind, I-!_ waved off with friendly hands. They sat in a line, combing through the now shining locks and weaving strands of it all around in dizzying patterns. Thorin stood to the side and hovered awkwardly, and Bilbo was certain that if asked he would say he was "supervising".

In what seemed like no time at all, Bilbo's impossibly long hair was fastened into a single, thickly and beautifully wound braid, hanging down his back and stopping just past his calves. He spun around experimentally and giggled in delight. "Oh it's wonderful! Thank you, all of you, so much!" He wiggled the braid in front of CeCe who sniffed the end of it curiously, Thorin biting back the smile that was threatening to creep across his face at the sight.

"Really, I don't know how I can repay you all for your kindness." Bilbo said earnestly, pulling the braid over his shoulder to stroke. Balin stepped up and put both hands on his shoulders, gazing up at him warmly.

"Go live your dream, laddie. For all of us, for you. That's how you can repay us." Bilbo's eyes glistened and he beamed at him, nodding fervently before turning his head and meeting Thorin's eyes where he stood off to the side.

"I will."

Thorin blinked, a slight blush creeping up his neck, and as he opened his mouth to say something Dori gave a shout from the far wall.

"Palace guards! A-And a lot of them!" He was crowded up against the dingy window by the door, Nori already leaping behind the bar and thunking around under the counter.

"Thorin! Bilbo! Get over here, you need to get out!" Bilbo shot a fearful glance at Thorin, who nodded once sharply and moved quickly to join Nori, before scooping CeCe up into his arms and running after him.

Nori had pulled an old rug aside to reveal a floor hatch with a heavy iron lock clasping it closed, which he made quick work of _un_ locking. He flung the heavy door open on it's hinges and grabbed a torch from the wall sconce behind them, handing it to Thorin and ushering them down with a hand to Bilbo's back.

"Quickly, we'll stall them as long as we can!" Thorin climbed down first, the rickety ladder creaking with every step, before using the torch to light Bilbo's way as it was his turn to follow.

Reaching the bottom he dropped down next to Thorin, grabbing his arm for support as they both stared back up, the shouting of guards cut off suddenly and eerily as the hatch swung shut, plunging them into darkness.

Thorin held the torch in front of them and turned to look down at Bilbo with an almost frantic intensity, the flames licking up and flickering in his eyes.

"Run."

  
They ran and ran and _ran_ down a long, low-ceilinged tunnel, thick layers of dust billowing out around their pounding feet. They ran until Bilbo was wheezing beside him and grasping at his shirt sleeve, disheveled from their escape. They ran until Thorin could hear something other than the screaming thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Finally they stopped, keeled over and heaving for breath, no other sound piercing the quiet until Bilbo panted out, "Thorin, who were those men? Why were they after us?"

Thorin met his eyes and quickly had to retreat away from the fear there, making them shine in the firelight. He clenched his jaw and started moving again, a slow walk after their sizable head-start, and Bilbo fell in step beside him. "Let's just say they don't really like me."

Bilbo scoffed, still a little out of breath. "That's a bit of an understatement I'd say, wouldn't you? Those men were armed, Thorin."

"They _really_ don't like me."

He could feel Bilbo's glare, hotter than the torchlight on his skin.

"Look, it's a long story but-" Suddenly Thorin stopped in his tracks, putting a hand out to stop Bilbo as well. "Do you hear that?" Bilbo huffed next to him and made it halfway through his retort when the words fell from his mouth and he stopped. He heard it too, the soft rush of running water echoing down the tunnel, getting louder with each new step they took deeper through the heart of the mountain.

Their tentative curiosity was quickly replaced by a renewed urgency as the angry shouts of the palace guards rang through the tunnel, reverberating harshly off the rocky walls and sounding much closer behind them than was at all comfortable.

Sharing only a quick glance the pair ran towards the less life-threatening of the sounds, coming out of the passage and out into a large open space, a looming cave with dark stone walls that glittered with moisture, dripping stalactites hanging ominously high above them. Opposite where the tunnel breached the cave wall was the cave mouth, wide and gaping, like some great giant had taken a knife and cleaved the space in two. They couldn't see anything beyond the mouth, however, as the entire opening was right up against the back of an enormous waterfall, the rushing cascade building into a roar in the enclosed space.

They hardly had a moment to take in the vastness and quite _dead-end_ ness of it before the guards were upon them, some three or four with stern expressions and swords drawn. Thorin glared at them, his anger rumbling in his chest like the sound a mountain makes just before it lurches forward in an avalanche. He placed himself in front of Bilbo, staring down the men with his arms raised enough to tell them that they very much _shouldn't_ get any closer, if they knew what was good for them.

"Give it up Oakenshield, you've run out of places to hide." One of the guards stepped forward just once, nodding with certainty towards the wall of water behind the two of them.

Thorin just shrugged, his body tense and ready. "Haven't run out of places to fight, though, have I?"

For a moment, no one breathed. Thorin clenched his fists, the guards readied their weapons, and Bilbo gulped.

Just like that the moment was broken and the guards lunged, two of them for Thorin and one for Bilbo behind him.

Thorin dodged their blows deftly, sweeping out a leg and tripping one of them onto his back, the air knocked from his chest. He raised an arm _just_ quick enough to block a blow from a sword hilt, grabbing the guard's wrist and yanking down, sending the man tumbling. He heard Bilbo yelp, followed by a loud _thwang_ , and Thorin spun around to see Bilbo wielding the frying pan he had no idea Bilbo had brought along but was incredibly glad he did.

Distracted as he was his head was suddenly jerked back, one of the fallen guards having stumbled back up and grabbed hold of his ponytail, pulling hard. Thorin stumbled, falling hard against the cold rock of the cave floor. Before he could catch a breath a sword blade was sweeping down towards him, and he rolled away just in time to hear it clang loudly on the rock just behind his head.

  
Bilbo was swinging his pan wildly at the one guard still pursuing him, keeping him at a distance and inching backwards with each swing. Another guard reared on Thorin, swinging his sword high and Bilbo was moving before he even decided to.

"Thorin! Catch!" He turned just in time to catch the frying pan in one fist and block the sword blow, sending a wide-eyed look Bilbo's way when it was safe to do so.

Bilbo let out a breath when he actually caught the thing and used it, but he jumped back with a shout as the guard that was still very much attacking _him_ took his chance to swing at him. He'd jumped back too far, though, and he slipped on the wet edge of the cave mouth, the roar of the wall of water impossibly loud in his ears as he fell through it, scrabbling for a handhold at the last second. He didn't fall, and, hanging suspended there halfway out of the waterfall with a frazzled CeCe held tight in his other arm he could see past it. There was a steep crevice where the cave floor ended, stretching down into the hazy oblivion of the water crashing _down down down_ below them. Across from the cave, though, across the gap, there was an outcropping of rock, the continuing mountainside pocked with deep pits and jagged rises. It looked climb-able, at least much more of a way out than a dead-end cave. Some of the outcrops were large enough for a person or two to stand on and almost horizontal, and it was worth any shot they could take.

He was pulled back into the cave spluttering and soaked to the bone by Thorin's fist balled tight in the front of his vest, his eyes wide and fierce. Thorin swung hard at the guard that had been after Bilbo, catching his jaw with a sickening crack. The other two were down, clutching their sides and groaning. Bilbo saw it as their window and pulled Thorin over to the waterfall, sticking out a hand to part the water so Thorin could see what he'd seen.

"We have to jump, it's our only way out!" Thorin's brow was scrunched tight in confusion and the whites of his eyes were gleaming in the low light of the cave.

He nodded once, resolute, and walked quickly to the back of the cave near the tunnel entrance. Bilbo stepped aside and Thorin stared ahead with a hard determination, breathing heavily out his nose as he charged, using the running start to burst through the wall of water and out of the cave, like he'd never been there. Bilbo scrambled to the edge and stuck his head out, hanging it in relief when he saw Thorin sprawled across one of the flatter outcrops, rising shakily to his feet. He shouted over the crashing of the water.

"Alright, I'm coming now! Don't-" he swallowed thickly. "don't let me fall, Thorin." Without waiting for a reply he pulled his head back inside, shaking the water from his eyes as he ran to the tunnel mouth. The guards were already almost back on their feet, he didn't have time to dwell on what would happen if this didn't work. He took a deep breath and, holding CeCe to his chest with both arms wrapped around her, bolted for the opening, the hand of one of the guards _just_ missing his ankle as he leapt through the water.

All sound fell away as he soared, mottled grey nothingness above and below him. He couldn't let CeCe fall, which meant he wouldn't have hands to grab onto the ledge with should he miss his mark. He shut his eyes tight and let whatever was going to happen happen, and he gasped and flung them open again when he landed, safely and securely against Thorin's chest and into his outstretched arms.

Neither of them had time to celebrate their both being _still alive_ and _escaped_ before Thorin was stumbling, the force of catching Bilbo throwing them backwards. Thorin's arms tightened around him, and his around CeCe, as Thorin lost his footing and they were all sent hurtling off the ledge and down into a crack in the mountainside.

  
They were falling, and they _kept on_ falling and falling and _falling_ , down a long and narrow shaft of rock. They collided with the shaft wall on their descent and Thorin twisted their weight, the flesh of his arm ripped into by the sharp points, just inches from Bilbo's head where he cradled it away from the impact. He let out a loud growl that was swallowed up as they reached the bottom and plunged under water.

Bilbo emerged with a gasp, CeCe shivering on his head and holding tight to his hair. Thorin came up a moment later, favoring one arm to clutch at the mossy rock wall around them. They all looked up in unison, the slash of light high above them small and as good as celestial, so far away from them it was.

Bilbo clutched at the wall, having no skill at all in staying afloat, and started to panic. "Thorin- Thorin I can't feel the bottom, can you-?"

"No, it's too deep. We have to try and climb out, just-" He scrambled to pull himself up, getting only an inch when his grip slipped and he fell back down with a splash. The rounded shaft wall, only about four feet in diameter, was coated in a slick, slimy sludge, built up no doubt by years of trickling residue from the waterfall somewhere above them.

An angry shout tore through him and he slammed a fist against the useless stones. They were trapped. Nothing but water beneath them, high walls towering above too slick to climb, and Thorin was bleeding quite a lot now, his shirt sleeve hanging in crimson ribbons. He was certain Bilbo didn't know how to swim, how could he, and they could only tread water for so long.

They were essentially rats down a well, left to die, and Thorin hated that Bilbo was here with him. He should be safe, happy, that white-hot grin blazing across his face as he stares up at his magic lights. But instead he's here with a screw up of a thief, down a dark wet hole, slow death inevitable. He was about to open his mouth and apologize, apologize for everything he'd put him through,when a very distinct sound sapped the words away, turning sour in his throat.

Bilbo was _crying_.

"I never sh-should've come here, I never should've done this..." He had a hand pressed to his eyes, the other still clutching the wall to stay afloat. "You shouldn't be here, stuck with me... It's all my fault. I'm _s-so sorry_ Thorin..." he choked out a sob and Thorin couldn't force himself to speak, trapped in yet another way as he could only look on and watch the kid fall apart.

Bilbo sniffled and chuckled out a cold laugh, no trace of real humor in it. "Oakenshield... if only it could've protected you from me, huh?" He sniffed and wiped his nose across his arm, eyes downcast.

Thorin finally found his words again, though they were incredibly soft and not at all the ones he'd planned on saying.

"Fitzdurin."

Bilbo looked up at him with shimmering eyes and sniffed again. "What?"

"My real name is Thorin Fitzdurin." He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Someone ought to know."

When he finally looked back up and met Bilbo's eyes again, took in that muted but _genuine_ smile, he couldn't find it in him to be too embarrassed about it. He didn't want to spend his last few hours on earth brooding about a past he coudln't change.

He wanted to spend it making Bilbo smile as many times as he could before it was all over.

Bilbo spoke up again, a confession of his own, and Thorin was brought back to reality.

"I have magic hair that glows when I sing, heh..."

_What?_

Bilbo's expression went from sadly wistful to acutely focused. "I have magic hair that glows when I sing! Thorin that's it!" He was beaming at him now, and Thorin couldn't grab hold of a single one of the responses flying around his head to throw out of his mouth before Bilbo began to sing, high and thrumming with a hope that Thorin desperately clung to, despite himself.

_Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine..._

Thorin gaped as, starting from his roots and slowly creeping all the way through his long braid, a bright golden light like the sun shining through the dappled yellow leaves of autumn illuminated Bilbo's hair, lighting up the dark space.

When Bilbo finished out the verse every last hair on his head was blazing bright, shimmering and sparkling as it swayed in the water. Bilbo laughed in triumph and grabbed the end of the braid, thrusting it down into the water as far as he could go without going under.

"Can you see anything? A way out?" He swiveled it this way and that, and Thorin pulled himself together long enough to gently grab Bilbo's wrist and take the braid from him, taking a breath and plunging down into the depths.

He came back up with a gasp for air and _grinned_ at Bilbo. "There's a passage, leading away from the side of this one. It comes up into an air pocket, it's the best option we've got." Bilbo pried CeCe off of his scalp and held her, still smiling. "You'll have to hold your breath, okay? You go first, use your hair to guide you." Bilbo nodded bravely and took a long, deep breath, CeCe following suit, locking eyes with Thorin before going down. Thorin followed close behind, and after an almost too long swim through the side tunnel they came up desperately for air in another cave, this one thankfully not submerged.

The trio hauled themselves up and out of the water, Thorin giving Bilbo his good arm to pull him out, and they both laughed in utter relief at the sight of an entrance -or rather, an exit- just off to the side, sunlight, streaming in and glittering on the water.

They stepped out into the light, blinking into it after so long in the dark, and Bilbo sighed a ragged sigh with his whole body at the feeling of soft grass underfoot. it seemed they'd gone all the way through the mountain, getting spat out at the edge of a deep forest, lapping at the mountain's feet.

Thorin lifted his face to the sun and breathed deep, in awe that they were alive _at all_ , after all of that, all thanks to...

His head snapped upright, and he turned slowly to look at Bilbo intently.

"Your hair glows."

Bilbo smiled sheepishly up at him.

" _Why_ does your hair glow?!"

Bilbo shook his head, nudging CeCe from shaking the water out of her fur, and walked ahead.

"Come on, let's go make camp. Or something."

Thorin had no choice but to follow, absently wringing water out of his own hair as his jaw attempted to touch the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do tell me what you think! :^)


	5. Storytelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, about half as long as chapter 4, BUT chapter 6 will be -really- long, I can say that with certainty. So please do enjoy this shorter chapter until next time!
> 
> WARNING: Graphic descriptions of wounds/blood in this chapter only, I will warn if it happens again!

"You're being awfully cryptic as you wrap your hair around my injured arm. All that's going to do is get it all bloody, I hope you realize that..."

They'd found a small glen, not too far a walk from the slope of the mountain, and the first thing Bilbo had done once they decided to rest there for the night and make up a small fire was sit Thorin down on a fallen tree and examine his arm.

He peeled what was left of his shirt sleeve back gently, wincing at the sight of the skin beneath. The flesh of his forearm was practically shredded, three or four long, jagged cuts running deep from nearly his wrist to just a little bit past his elbow. It was still bleeding, not quite profusely but it was still a steady trickling, a worrying amount nonetheless. He'd layed Thorin's arm gingerly across his knees and pulled his braid over one shoulder, now mostly disheveled and with stray tufts poking out along its length. He undid the end of it with a fleeting feeling of regret at the loss of the tavern men's artistry, but it had to be done. He'd then wrapped the hair in gentle but firm loops around the whole of Thorin's injury, tutting at him to stay still.

"It doesn't just glow, you know. That would be quite useless, wouldn't it? Though I suppose it did help us out back there." Thorin just stared, one eyebrow quirked up suspiciously. "Oh alright, just- don't freak out, alright?" He didn't look any less wary, but he also didn't look any _more_ so, so he closed his eyes and began to sing.

 _"Flower, gleam and glow_  
_Let your power shine_  
 _Make the clock reverse_  
 _Bring back what once was mine_  
 _Heal what has been hurt_  
 _Change the fate’s design_  
 _Save what has been lost_  
 _Bring back what once was mine_  
 _What once was mine..."_

Thorin watched with wide eyes as his hair slowly began to light up, from end to end just like in the cave, as Bilbo sang. He moved his gaze from the hair around his arm to Bilbo's face, though, and was absolutely floored. He sang beautifully, so sweet and high and smooth, like the first taste of honey after a long winter. Gone was the shakiness that his nerves gave it, back in the cave when they still thought they might not get out of there alive. Gone was the rush of the words tumbling over each other, desperate to see if this strange gift of his would help at all. There was instead a calm flow to his words, a determination in the words to do whatever it was Bilbo was doing with them. For a moment he forgot all about the pain in his arm and just watched Bilbo, let the melody wash over him.

Before he knew it Bilbo stopped, opened his eyes and looked at Thorin cautiously, slowly unwrapping the hair from around his arm. Loathe as he was to tear his gaze away from Bilbo he _did_ need to make sure he wasn't still bleeding to death. He looked down at his arm and blanched, turning it over in front of his face and marveling at the smooth, unmarred skin, not a scratch or drop of blood in sight.

"You're freaking out, I knew you'd freak out.."

"N-No! I uh, just wasn't expecting... this, is all. How uh, how long has it, um... done that?" He could practically _hear_ his sister laughing at him.

Bilbo didn't seem perturbed by his vocal fumbling, though; in fact he seemed relieved that Thorin wasn't running for the hills, and it broke Thorin's heart.

"It's always been this way," He still had his braid slung over his shoulder and he was fiddling with the undone end, lost in thought. "Father said that when I was young, still just a baby, people tried to cut it and take it for themselves." CeCe hopped over from where she'd been grooming herself and settled down between his feet, laying her head on one foot in silent support. "Problem is, once it's cut, it turns brown and loses its power." He looked up and met Thorin's eyes then, reaching up and tugging a short, coppery brown lock of hair from behind his ear.

"What it can do, a gift like this, it must be protected. That's why father never let me... That's why I never left. I was safe there."

Thorin spoke, finally, his voice soft. "You never left that tower, all this time, and you're still going back?"

Bilbo twisted his braid roughly in his hands. "No! ...yes? Oh I don't know..." He slumped his shoulders and sighed, straightening up a little with a soft smile when CeCe snuggled up closer on his foot.

"So! Thorin Fitzdurin huh?" Thorin grimaced, allowing Bilbo to change the subject but not at all pleased that the new subject was _that_.

"I hoped you'd forgotten about that in our near-death experience anxiety."

Bilbo shook his head faux-solemnly. "No such luck, I'm afraid." He flapped his hands at him. "Go on then, out with it!"

Thorin groaned and pleaded with the quickly darkening sky for a way out of this conversation. When all he got from the twinkling stars was silence he met Bilbo's eyes again. "I'll spare you the story of little homeless child Thorin Fitzdurin, it's not really a happy one."

Bilbo just grinned and scooted closer to him on the log they both shared, hands folded in his lap, and Thorin laughed openly.

"Alright! Alright, since it seems I won't be able to convince you to drop it," his tone was teasing, and Bilbo just shook his head, smile still stuck on his face.

"My parents died, when I was just a little kid. House fire, I don't know how we made it out, to be honest, my little brother and sister and me. We didn't have any other family, so we were sent to go live in an orphanage." He stared into the fire, the calm flickering of the flames leading him on.

"I used to read this book, it was my absolute favorite thing in the world. I used to read it to my siblings, and all the other kids. It was about Sir Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, as strong and fierce as he was kind and loving. He always went on these fantastic adventures, got himself into the worst sorts of trouble, but he always made it out of it." He was smiling now, a sad and wistful little thing. "That's why I took the name, Oakenshield, to make me feel strong. Make me feel like I had something to protect me from all the scary parts of the world. It's silly, I know.."

Bilbo spoke up, interrupting him with slightly wet eyes. "No, it's not silly at all. In fact, I think it's rather brave." Thorin smiled back at him, eyes shimmering in the firelight. Bilbo pushed on, engrossed in the story. "What happened then?"

"Balin took us in, my sister and I. He owns the Mountain Hall, and he told me he needed a busboy. Mostly I think he just felt sorry for us."

"And your brother...?" Thorin's face fell and he clenched his jaw, looking away and back into the fire.

"A fever started spreading around, one winter. It snowed _so much_ that year, we could barely keep warm, and there Frerin was burning up. He was nine, I was twelve." He plucked at his tattered shirt sleeve. "Nothing we did, nothing we gave him helped, and if there was a remedy we couldn't afford it. By the time the year turned Frerin was gone."

Bilbo felt like there was a stone in his throat. He couldn't imagine feeling what Thorin had felt, losing what he'd lost. It was just too much, and he marveled that Thorin could still smile and laugh at all. That all hope hadn't been stolen from his heart a long time ago.

"You said- back at the tavern, you said that, you'd all given up so much I- I never thought-" He stopped when Thorin placed a gentle hand on his knee. Bilbo took a deep breath and continued. "You didn't like the fireworks, practically scowled when I mentioned them. It's because of him, isn't it? If the palace has money to spend year after year on these- these lights, why couldn't they help save your brother..."

Thorin's voice was impossibly low, barely even there. "You didn't know. How could you? You aren't to blame for any of this." He smiled softly, so so softly down at him. "The lights mean something very different to you. Something good." He rubbed light circles into his knee with his thumb, almost absently.

"Everything I've done, I've done for them. My family."

"Your sister?" _And every last man at the tavern,_ Bilbo thinks, a warmth blooming in his chest and helping to chase out the hollow cold Thorin's story had left.

"And her sons. My nephews, you'd love them. They're only kids, nine and ten, but they're made of mischief I swear it."

Everything seems to shift, then, as Bilbo pictures Thorin with two rambunctious children in his arms, telling them stories and tickling them silly. It's something he never would've imagined him doing, but it just _fits_ , and Bilbo's heart melts. He deeply hoped to meet these nephews someday, if only to see with his own eyes Thorin's obvious love for them.

"Well," Thorin patted Bilbo's knee before removing his hand and standing, almost as if he'd forgotten he'd put it there, and stretched. "I'll go find some more firewood, looks like we've talked the fire to cinders."

They shared another soft smile before Thorin turned away, and just before he was swallowed up by the darkness of the forest Bilbo spoke up again.

"For the record? I like Thorin Fitzdurin _much_ better."

Thorin smiled again, more of it showing in his eyes than before. "Then you'd be the first. And, thank you." Their grins matched as Thorin turned again and walked off into the forest, leaving CeCe the only witness to Bilbo's blush and dreamy sigh.

"Oh hush you, go back to your bath you awful rodent." But he was smiling, and CeCe looked smug, and even with the dark pressing in all around him and Thorin not by his side, he wasn't afraid.

\--------------

...Until a twig snapped loudly behind him and he whirled around, gasping in surprise.

"Father! What- What are you doing here? How did you find me?" He'd sprung into a standing position and backed up a few paces as his father emerged from the forest wall, his travel cloak hanging across his shoulders and a deceptively calm smile on his face.

He was _so dead_. He gulped.

"Oh, well, it really wasn't all that difficult, dear. I just followed the scent of complete and utter betrayal and followed that." He was smiling, though, and somehow that made it worse. He placed a cool hand on Bilbo's cheek and he felt inexplicably like a rabbit in a fox's maw. This close he could see more wrinkles across his father's brow than he'd ever seen before, and a streak of white beginning to grow in his jet-black coif of hair. _He hadn't been gone that long..._  

"O-Oh, I see... Father it isn't what-"

"We're going home, Bilbo. _Now."_

Bilbo stepped away from the touch and tried not to be intimidated by Smaug's answering raise of one eyebrow.

"No, father- I don't want to go back! Not yet, I've seen and learned so many things on this adventure, I-" He felt the blush in his cheeks and couldn't do anything to stop it. "I met someone. A friend."

Smaug scoffed. "Ah yes, the wanted thief, darling I'm _so_ proud." He stepped forward and extended a hand to his son. "Come, Bilbo, we're leaving."

Bilbo stepped back, staring hard at hand in front of him and swallowing. "Father, if you'd just listen- I, I think he likes me! He's not _just_ a thief, he has his reasons! He-"

"Bilbo, do you _hear_ yourself right now? He's a _criminal_ , a dangerous one at that, and you think he actually _likes_ you? He's _using_ you, sweetheart, can't you see that? You have something of his and he wants it back, and he'll do whatever it takes to do that. It's all in your head, flower, he's lying to you."

Bilbo clutched handfuls of hair at his scalp, squeezing his eyes shut. He played over in his head his conversation with Thorin just minutes ago, his confession in that rock shaft, how he smiled at his friends -his _family_ \- at the tavern. It couldn't have been fake, it couldn't. _Could it...?_

"Thorin wouldn't lie to me, he wouldn't, I-"

"You what, you _know_ him?" Smaug sneered. "You know nothing about him, child, tricking people is his _job_. You are too naive to be here and this proves it. Come on, Bilbo, come home with your father." He'd moved closer again and had snaked a hand around Bilbo's wrist, startling him out of his thoughts. He wrenched his arm from Smaug's hold and stepped back further, his steps firm and sure.

"No!" He hadn't meant to shout, and the look on Smaug's face nearly made him regret it. _Nearly_.

"Oh.. Oh I see, _Bilbo_ knows best, hmm?" His voice was low and deceptively calm until he roared back as loudly as Bilbo had, reaching behind him and thrusting a leather bag at Bilbo's chest. "Here, give him this! Watch how fast he leaves you once he has what he wants!"

Bilbo let out an _oof!_ at the impact, clutching Thorin's satchel to his chest. He stared down at it wide-eyed, and sure enough, nestled safely inside was the glittering stone he'd found on his living room floor, what seemed like ages ago now. He snapped his gaze back up at Smaug as he spoke again, an angry snarl.

"When he leaves, _when_ and not if, _don't_ come crying to me. I warned you, flower, and now when you get burned there will be nowhere to go." He turned to leave, his face a cold and carefully crafted mask, and he tossed his last words over his shoulder before disappearing back into the darkness. _"Father_ knows best."

Bilbo watched him go, trying and failing to will himself to stop shaking. CeCe rubbed up against his ankle and he let out a shuddered breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He heard rustling from the _other_ side of the camp, then, from the direction Thorin had gone, and he jumped, stashing the satchel behind a nearby bush just as the man himself stumbled through the trees, his arms laded with fallen branches.

"This should hold us over till tomorrow at least- Is... everything alright? You didn't run into any more ruffians while I was gone did you?"

Thorin wasn't lying to him, he _cared_ about him, and-

Well, if he wanted to savor this growing... _whatever this was_ between them for as long as could, to whatever end, then no one had to know about it, or the stone or the satchel or anything else.

Not yet.

\--------------

Smaug watched the scene unfold from his vantage spot, tucked up atop a boulder overlooking the glen where Bilbo and that awful criminal were camped. He watched with a wide and toothy grin as Bilbo did not, in fact, reveal the stone, but rather kicked it discreetly further into the underbrush where it was hidden from view.

"Patience, now," he spoke quietly to himself, his grin now positively smug and dripping with the twisted glee of a cat who's just caught a mouse and just won't let it die, toying with it as it clings to life. The faintest light from the campfire down below reflected in his eyes, turning them a burning amber as they glowed in the darkness. 

"All good things to those who wait..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love cliffhangers? >:^) 
> 
> Reviews are wonderful, and thank you for reading!


	6. And At Last I See the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I am SO SORRY this took so long. It's the longest chapter yet, and has the iconic boat scene, so I hope that makes up for it! My goal was to get this done before I head off to SDCC in a week and I'm relieved that I've done that! I'll hopefully have the next chapter up around mid July, apologies for lateness again. 
> 
> ALSO this wasn't proofread super closely, if you find any errors do let me know!
> 
> Anywho, enjoy! :)

The sun was shining high and bright in the sky as the pair (plus one rabbit) made their way across a thick stone bridge and into the citadel of the Royal Palace, and the pleasant warmth of it seemed to seep into Bilbo's skin, making him restless and fidgety in excitement. Thorin, on the other hand, was on high alert. He scanned the groups of people that they passed for palace guards, tearing down any wanted posters with his own face staring back at him and crinkling them up tight, tossing them discreetly into the lake surrounding the structure.

The Royal Palace of The Shire was a staggeringly beautiful stronghold, it's gates thrown open and every inch of the place draped in bright ribbons and banners, in Royal Green and Gold, in celebration of the year's most anticipated event. Venders lined the stone-cobbled streets, selling anything from roasted chestnuts to spring-toys and riddle books. Children laughed and ran around barefoot, light and upbeat music was played by anyone with an instrument, and every single face they saw had a smile stretched across it. Bilbo's own beaming grin was brighter than all of them combined, and Thorin knew his cheeks would hurt tomorrow. He also knew he wouldn't mind one bit.

Wide-eyed, Bilbo ran from booth to booth, whipping his head around to meet eyes with Thorin as if to make sure that he was as excited as he was. The light inside this boy was too much to be contained in one person, and Thorin felt inexplicably blessed to be the one he shared it with, here in this place so far from home where his dreams had bloomed his entire life.

Thorin _almost_ wiped the wistful grin off his face before Bilbo turned back to beckon him.

"Thorin! Oh Thorin you have to come see this, they've got- oh-!" He turned to jog over too him but stepped on the still-undone end of his braid, strands having unraveled in his bustling about and getting caught underfoot, causing him to pitch forward. Thorin rushed forward, catching him under the arms as Bilbo laughed, his arms coming to rest around Thorin's shoulders lightly.

"Oh look at me! Like a newborn calf! Well, I assume, anyway, I've never actually seen a newborn _anything_ before.." He met Thorin's eyes, smiling easily and still standing comfortably in his embrace, and huffed a small laugh. "Sorry, rambling."

Thorin just smiled back and cleared his throat after seeming to realize just _how_ they were standing. He gently let go of Bilbo and he righted himself, coughing a hot breath into his fist.

"Would you, ah, can I fix that for you?" He pointed to the mess of hair at Bilbo's feet and _really_ hoped his cheeks didn't look as hot as they felt.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows and grinned slowly, suddenly tongue tied where a moment ago you couldn't have _paid_ him to stop talking, nodding and sitting on the raised stone enclosure around a nearby garden. Thorin wasted no time, kneeling down and picking up the strands as Bilbo turned to face him with his back.

It took him a couple of tries, cursing under his breath once or twice, and Bilbo laughed in front of him.

"Everything alright back there? Do I need to call for reinforcements to fish you out?" Thorin just shook his head and chuckled, saying nothing and patting him on one shoulder blade gently to tell him that he was finished. Bilbo pulled the braid over his shoulder to inspect and gasped.

The long, neatly re-tied braid was studded with fresh flowers, big yellow daffodils and bright purple anemone, lots and lots of little white daisies and springy pink sweet pea blossoms. Bilbo spun where he sat and stared at Thorin, looking like a fish out of water.

"Thorin, it's... so beautiful, thank you." He smiled that shy smile again and offered himself a distraction by lifting the braid to his face and taking a deep inhale. "Oh they smell wonderful!"

Just like that he was back in the fray, but this time he grabbed hold of Thorin's hand and pulled him right in with him. CeCe hopped along behind them as they went, looking very smug indeed as they swung their clasped hands, and Thorin gave her dirty looks whenever Bilbo wasn't looking.

It was simultaneously a relief and a let-down when Bilbo dropped his hand, having steered them to stand right up against a booth draped in deep red cloth that was selling books. He didn't seem to be worrying about a brief clasp of fingers _nearly_ as much as Thorin was, and he scowled inwardly at himself as Bilbo excitedly reached across the table laden with tomes of all sizes, placing a thin one bound in navy blue into his hands.

"I think I've found your book!" He beamed at Thorin, and when he finally tore his eyes away from the sight and down to the cover he took in a gentle breath. Sure enough, sitting his his palms like the most precious of gems was the book, _his_ book, "King Oakenshield and the Fire Serpent and Other Fantastical Tales" embossed in gold ink, worn with age. He rubbed the small gold oak leaf crossed with a sword below the words gently, as if afraid it would crumble into dust in his hands. He looked back up at Bilbo, who was holding his breath in order to keep from babbling and spoil the moment.

"You have indeed, Bilbo." He smiled then, not wide or bright or blinding, but solid, unwavering and true. He placed it gently back down on the table, giving the words one last long, delicate stroke with the tips of his fingers before silencing Bilbo's confused huff of breath with a hand on his shoulder.

"I think there are some sweetcakes over there with our names on them." Slowly Bilbo's face spread in a grin, and Thorin gave him a cheeky wink as he sauntered away with a beckoning look over his shoulder. Bilbo huffed again and ran to catch up, punching him lightly in the shoulder and laughing as they sought out the sweet smells of the baker's trolly.

They wandered across the courtyard, the blazing sun shining down on the bright colored banners hanging overhead and casting soft shapes across their faces as they bantered, an easy back-and-forth between them now. Bilbo was halfway through explaining that _yes_ CeCe was a nickname, and that Carrot Cake was a _completely reasonable_ name for a rabbit when you were twelve and baking said sweet when you found her sniffing in your measuring cups when he trailed off, slowing to a stop in front of a tall stretch of wall, a huge glittering mosaic set into the stones. He gaped up at it, a portrait of the King and Queen, holding a bright-eyed baby in their arms with hair like spun gold, shining like liquid sunlight.

The exact same color as his own.

His face pinched in thought and he reached a hesitant hand up to ghost his fingertips across the polished glass shards. The soft cinnamon brown of the Queen's curls, the rich greens of the King's tunic, the almost blinding white-gold of the House Insignia on the baby's garments, a sun with twisting tendrils-

"Bilbo? Are you alright?"

Bilbo jumped, jerking his hand back as it was about to make contact with the mosaic.

"I- Yes, yes I'm fine, I just-" he blinked a few times and gestured to the image. "It's beautiful."

Thorin cocked his head and stepped closer, gazing up at it alongside him. "It is." When he looked back at Bilbo he was kneeling at the mosaic's base, gently stroking the petal of a blooming milk-white lily, nestled in a large clump of flowers of all sorts and shapes and colors piled high against the artistry.

"It's for the Lost Prince," Thorin continued softly, watching Bilbo's gentle touches with a curious look on his face.

"The Lost Prince.." Bilbo repeated under his breath, standing once more. He took a decisive breath, but before he could say whatever it is he was going to say there was a cupcake being held just inches from his nose, decorated with bright pink frosting in the shape of a rose. He looked from the treat to Thorin's face, his smile a cross between a smirk and a shy grin, and took it into his hands, managing a garbled 'thank you' through a mouthful of messy confectionery.

The strange feeling he'd gotten when he caught sight of the mosaic was gone as quick as it came, and he and Thorin spent the day sampling all of the goods and activities the palace had to offer, on this day of celebration. They played a game involving cracking hard chestnuts against each other that a group of children were playing and found that Bilbo was exceptionally good at it, Thorin laughed while Bilbo doodled in messy chalk what he thought an oliphaunt might look like if it were planting daisies in a garden, and Bilbo grabbed his hand again when they had to duck under a cart full of cabbages to avoid a passing palace patrol. He didn't let go once they turned a corner and were out of sight, either.

Using their joined hands Thorin pulled Bilbo to his feet once they'd passed, trying not to sigh when Bilbo let go of his hand to pat down his vest pockets. He smiled back up at Thorin, seemingly pacified, and Thorin gestured to where his thumbs were still hooked casually in the folds.

"What have you got there? A souvenir?" he asked, stepping closer as Bilbo - _adorably_ , Thorin kicked himself- flushed, and dug something out of his front vest pocket. Sheepishly he held out an acorn in the palm of his hand, small-ish and smooth. Thorin's brow furrowed.

"An acorn?" He shook his head. "Out of all the things in this place, things even _I've_ never seen, you choose _that_ for your keepsake?" Bilbo seemed to take offense and he deflated, making to shove it back in his pocket and Thorin hastily stopped him, mentally kicking himself again and cupping his hand in both of his. "Why?"

Bilbo's flush spread high on the apples of his cheeks and he chuckled nervously, unfurling his hand to display the large seed, Thorin's hands still holding it gently.

"I know it seems silly, but... It's so that wherever I go, wherever I end up after this adventure, I can plant it and... remember. You know? Remember everything I did, everyone I met." He met Thorin's eyes shyly, holding his gaze for a long moment. Thorin's face softened, and he shook his head slowly with a breathy laugh.

"You never seem to stop surprising me, Bilbo." In an act of either braveness or stupidity he started to rub slow circles into Bilbo's hand with his thumbs, the soothing motion sneaking up his wrist where his skin was feather-soft. He held Bilbo's gaze and held his breath, slowly tugging forward until they were _almost_ flush, _nearly there,_ just a breath of space more and they'd be-

They jerked apart at the twang of a lute springing to life, followed by the happy pattering of a pair of lap drums and the woody whistle of a flute. The two of them blinked like owls at each other, both of them now sprouting a fair dusting of pink-in-the-cheeks, before giggling only a little awkwardly, Thorin rolling his eyes when _Carrot Cake_ -seriously, Bilbo was trying to kill him with cute ridiculous things like that- squeaked up at him like she'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

The wielders-of-the-instruments appeared around a corner then, starting up a dancing jig that sent Bilbo practically hopping in place and, well, _dancing_. He laughed a high, joyful laugh and winked at Thorin before bolting out into the square, hopping and jumping and twisting and pulling smiling onlookers into the fray, the sheer embodiment of wild and untamed freedom. Again Thorin found himself having to pick his jaw up off the floor at another smug squeak from a certain _terrible, instigating fur-ball_ , and he pointedly didn't look at her.

He didn't have eyes for anyone but Bilbo in that moment, if he were being honest with himself.

Unfortunately -or thankfully, depending on who you asked- his incredibly embarrassing and pathetic pining was cut short by an arm looping through his attempting to pull him into the throng of dancers. He shook his head frantically, with a resolute _No no no no no_ , but the grinning woman was not giving up, it seemed, and all it took was a fleeting glimpse of Bilbo's beaming face, an echo of his giggling rising barely audible above the din, and he was grumbling and stumbling into the spinning circle of bodies.

As he was spun and dipped and stepped around to the admittedly catchy tune of the music Thorin found himself smiling, dropping his prickly inhibitions and clapping along with the group. It may or may not have something to do with the fact that with every cycle of steps he was _that_ much closer to being paired with Bilbo, but he wasn't about to admit that. _Especially_ not to a certain rabbit.

The music rose, the dancer's laughed, and the setting sun made Bilbo's hair glow like a candle in the dark as he spun and jumped, never losing energy but meeting Thorin's eyes more frequently as they grew ever closer. Another spin, another turn, a clap, and they flew together, slotting hands in hands and on hips like they were made to, a pair of misfits who fit together like a two-piece puzzle. They just stood there, still and breathing heavily and _smiling_ , bright and flushed and unguarded.

They had only a moment like that, locked in time and locked together, before someone was shouting and people were flooding excitedly out of the square.

"To the boats!" Bilbo blinked, cocked his head, and Thorin released his hold on him gently, following the crowd and gesturing with a hand for Bilbo to follow. He led him to a lonely dock, everyone else already wound up in all the cracks and crevices of the palace, ready for what was coming next.

"Thorin, what-?" He looked warily but with wide curious eyes at the little wooden boat that Thorin had clambered into, holding a hand out to him.

"Best night of your life, figured you should have a front row seat." A soft curve of his lips and Bilbo was taking a deep breath and taking Thorin's hand, stumbling to sit at the other end of the boat. With CeCe preferring to watch the show from the safety of dry land, Thorin slowly rowed the pair out into the middle of the lake, settled right in front of the towering majesty of the palace.

Gazing up at the cold stone, glowing faintly from within and banners now dark shadows, Bilbo was uneasy. He averted his eyes and instead stared down into the deep black of the lake around them, stars above reflecting in rippling pinpricks on it's vast surface. He twisted and pulled at his braid, slung over his shoulder, and looked up when Thorin broke the silence.

"Great view, I'll give it that... Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm... I'm terrified." He _really_ wished CeCe were there right now, odd as that seemed.

"Why?"

He gave his braid one last hard twist and dropped it back over his shoulder, his hands trembling in his lap. "I've been dreaming about my- these lights for eighteen years, for my _entire life_ , what it would feel like when I _finally_ got to see them jump up into the sky and... well, what if... what if it isn't everything I've dreamed it would be?" When he met Thorin's eyes he knew his were wet, threatening to spill over with whatever emotions his lights bring him, good or bad.

"It will be." The resoluteness in Thorin's voice startled Bilbo, but it was also comforting, in a way, that Thorin believed in his silly dream as strongly as he did. It gave him courage.

His own voice was still wavering, soft and vulnerable with that lingering fear. "What if it _is?_ What do I do then?"

"That's the fun part, I suppose." He gazed up at the palace, the glow within steadily growing, before locking eyes with Bilbo once more, smiling softly. "You get to find a new dream."

 

\--------------

 

As the hour drew nearer the people flocking the cobbled streets of the royal capital were buzzing with excitement, chattering and laughing and loudly preparing for the hush of the moment when it would all begin, just as it did every year. All of the noise and thrumming in the air stopped at the closed doors to the royal quarters, however, enclosing the monarchs inside an intimate bubble of shadowy silence, heavy and thick with the weight of the annual ceremony. Here, behind closed doors, they stood not as King and Queen of the sprawling Shire, but as a grieving mother and father, a broken family torn between vicious, traitorous hope and deep, all-encompassing sorrow and loss.

Belladonna reached out and slowly adjusted her husband's forest green sash, a blazing golden sun embroidered to sit right above his heart. He sighed, a long and trailing whisper of breath, and she looked up at him with wet eyes, a hard determination and strength shining in them brighter than the delicate strings of pearls woven through her hair in the soft firelight of the room.

Bungo held her gaze bravely, seeing the same desperate fight between resolve and the wild abandon of grief behind her eyes that he felt in his own heart, every year on this day that should be a day of celebration and cheer, but instead haunted them with brittle hope that their world would stop ending every single time that warm autumn day rolled around again. He felt himself losing the fight -he always seemed to lose this one- and he squeezed his eyes shut as his tears spilled over the rise of his cheeks.

Belladonna made a soft noise in her throat, like something choked down, and moved her hands from her husband's chest to cup his face gently. She wiped the tears away with soft strokes of her thumbs as she blinked away her own, smiling up at him as best she could. They'd never been able to say quite the right thing when this day rolled around, never been able to come anywhere close to put into words what it felt like. Belladonna knew in her heart that it was because there _were_ no words for the pain they endured, everyday in backs of their minds and the silence of the dinner table some nights, amplified to almost unbearable intensity on their child's birthday. There simply weren't words, and so they said none now; they stopped needing them long ago.

He returned her smile after a moment, gratefully taking the strength that she gave him now, as she always seemed able to do. He reached up and covered her hands in his own, rubbing soft circles into softer skin. They both looked up as a gnarled but warm hand each dropped gently onto their shoulders, their royal adviser's face pulled in a melancholy grin similar to their own and shaded below his ever-present pointed hat.

"It is time," Gandalf says, and he squeezes them both briefly before letting go, motioning to where the heavy balcony doors were being slowly, ceremonially pulled open. With one last wordless exchange, King and Queen stepped out into the cool September air hand in hand, the din of the courtyard fizzling out into a collective draw of breath.

There on the balcony sits a single, modest tube of green and gold paper, and the two kneel down before it. Gandalf strikes a match and hands it to the King, who holds it to the fuse while he holds his breath. They stand once more, arms around each other in an embrace, as they watch the little rocket take off, barreling higher and higher into the clear night sky until it hisses and pops and _booms_ into a huge, twinkling sun, its arms snaking out and blanketing the court in showers of golden embers, drifting slowly down like the tufts of a dandelion.

Soon, one by one like dominoes the people gathered around the palace are lighting their own fireworks, setting the sky ablaze with every color and shape and sound imaginable. The King and Queen watch on, in the dark seclusion of their perch, and shed their tears openly now, seen by no one, Gandalf kindly turning away to watch the spectacle with a glimmer in his eye.

 

\--------------

 

The pair of them were picking flowers out of Bilbo's hair and floating them across the water, seeing who's would float farthest and laughing together when they saw the first slice of color tear up across the sky, the dazzling trail of golden sparks reflected in the lake below them like it were a mirror. Bilbo was up and scrambling for the far end of their little boat before they even heard the impossibly loud _boom_ muffled amongst the clouds only a second second later, sending it heaving and swaying and nearly capsizing in his hurry. He said nothing, and even if he wanted to he didn't have any words for what he was feeling, watching the sky erupt with dazzling blues and reds and greens and purples and yellows and- and colors he's sure he'd never seen before in all his life. His mouth could do nothing but let out a gasp of breath and then hang open under eyes as big as the moon, who's pale flesh it seemed was tickled by the soft pastels of the lights reaching up past the heavens.

All the unease, the twisting nervousness he'd felt earlier seemed ridiculous now, numb and far away as he watched his heart and soul leap and swirl and _burst_ right alongside the lights. His entire life he'd had this baseless feeling, a ceaseless presence in his mind that told him these lights were _meant_ for him, and now, here at the heart of it all, he knew that in fact they truly were. They were set off to call the Lost Prince back to the palace, yes, but these lights to Bilbo were his salvation. They gave him the drive, the push that he needed to stumble out of his tower and, blinking and laughing into the impossible brightness of the unknown, take his life into his own hands. The lights were a reassurance, a comforting _see, look how much you were missing! The whole world and everything in it is yours now._ This was his one goal, the one thing he worked his whole life to find the courage to pursue, and now that it was happening, that his dream was fulfilled, he could choose a new path. He could do _anything_ he wanted to do, and now, having come all this way and survived everything the journey threw at him, he knew he _could_.

He was finally, truly, _free_.

 

\--------------

 

Thorin watched his back with a softness that he knew he hadn't openly expressed in far too long, and he just hoped that Bilbo was watching those lights and feeling what he'd always hoped to feel, whatever it was. He wasn't sure how on earth he could comfort him if they'd come all this way just to have that hole inside him remain empty.

Then Bilbo was turning towards him, pointing excitedly at a particularly colorful one and beaming with eyes just for _him_ , even as his life-long dream unfolded across the deep velvet of the sky behind him, and something cracked open inside Thorin. He knew without a doubt that Bilbo had gotten what he'd come here for, and the rapturous joy on his face spread to Thorin instantly, smoothing out the strangled worry in his chest.

When this was all over, he _had_ to take him to meet Dis, she wouldn't allow other-

_Hold on._

When had he started planning for _afterwards_ with Bilbo? Up to that point it had always been 'what's next to get him to the palace', and now that he was _here_ , what would happen then? Would he want to go back to his tower, to a father who would by rights be so furious with Bilbo that he'd never let him leave again? But if he didn't go back, where would he go? These were questions that Thorin couldn't answer himself, and he squared his shoulders as he came to a resolute decision.

Wherever Bilbo decided to go, Thorin wanted to be right there with him.

 

\--------------

 

When Bilbo turned back around, he found that tearing himself away from the riot of colors was easier than he expected it to be. As if they'd done their job, cleared the fog from Bilbo's mind that had been steadily getting thicker for eighteen long years and set him on the cusp of his next adventure. He felt closure, he felt fulfilled.

Locking eyes with Thorin though they widened when he saw that he cradled in his hands two smallish tubes with bright colored paper wrapped around them, one a deep and inky blue and the other a rich, dark red. Both had golden swirls and leaves spindling around the shapes of them and they caught the light from the sky faintly. Thorin held the red one out to him with a soft smile and Bilbo gently pushed his hand back.

"Wait, I have something for you too." He calmly and with only the ghost of anxiousness flitting across his face reached behind him and under the wooden bench he was sitting on, and pulled out Thorin's satchel, holding it out to him. Thorin's eyes widened and in his silence Bilbo pressed on.

"I should've given it to you earlier, I know, but... well, I was afraid. I was scared you'd take it and go, and..." He took a deep, slow breath and exhaled it with a smile, his eyes never leaving Thorin's. "I'm not afraid anymore. Does that- do you know what I mean?"

The golds and fiery oranges of the fireworks swirled and spun in Thorin's eyes, but Bilbo couldn't hear their sounds over the softness of Thorin's voice as he answered.

"I think I'm starting to." Thorin gently pushed the satchel back into his hands, refusing it, and Bilbo sighed in relief as Thorin struck a match, lighting the fuses of the tubes now held in their hands and pointing skywards.

Bilbo giggled in wonderment as they shot off their supports, hurtling into the sky in gilded trails of stardust. They twisted and tangled around each other as they soared, diving into the fray of the other fireworks but never losing proximity to each other as they rocketed into oblivion, as if they were tied together with some invisible bond that not even white-hot sparks and flame could sever.

When they finally burst (at the exact same moment, no less) the two tore their eyes away from the heavens and back to each other, a silence hanging suspended between them that was both easy and thrumming with potential for _something_. Finally, after watching the pinks and greens and purples from high above glittering off of Bilbo's hair like gems set in a crown of gold for a long moment, he slowly reached out and took Bilbo's hand in his. Bilbo blinked at the contact, and his grin crept slow and bright across his face as he squeezed it, as if confirming it was actually happening. There was no explaining the touch away, no excuses about helping him up or tugging him along to look at some exciting thing or another. This _meant_ something, and Bilbo hoped with all he had that it meant what he thought it did.

Still they didn't say a word, and Bilbo felt they didn't need to, really, for it seemed the universe was going to decide what to do with the moment for them. Neither was sure who started it, but they were both leaning in, ever so slowly, fingers entwining as they closed the gap between them, both of them completely sure and in the moment. Just a breath away now, two pairs of eyes fluttering closed-

The loud _crack!_ of a particularly loud firework shook the sky, and as the townspeople cheered faintly from the palace Thorin and Bilbo jerked apart, both of them red as a beet and smiling bashfully. Thorin turned his head away to catch his breath - _and not get lost in Bilbo's eyes again_ , his mind supplied quite unhelpfully- and as he rubbed the back of his neck he caught sight of the satchel again, resting at their feet.

His words left a twist in his gut as he spoke them, and he hoped that he hadn't just shattered this crystalline thing that had finally finished forming between them. "Bilbo, I... I still need that jewel. It's the only way I can better the lives of my people, my family."

Bilbo's face falls, and the tug of him removing his hand from Thorin's grasp shatters him.

"Ah- I, I see, of course... I mean obviously this wasn't- you didn't- oh that was stupid of me I-" Thorin cut him off hurriedly and snatched his hand back gently, cradling it in both of his.

"No! No, I mean, that's not what I meant. I need you, Bilbo. I need you with me." Bilbo's expression was unreadable, and as he took a shaky breath to respond Thorin filled the space, needing to explain himself. "I know that you don't want to go back to that tower, and I... I'd like to take you with me, when this is over. You could stay, if you wanted..?"

Bilbo stared and for a moment Thorin could swear he felt his heart stop, until Bilbo finally squeezed his hand tight and laughed, his eyes wet and even more bright in the fading glow of the fireworks. "I think I'd like that very much, Thorin Fitzdurin." He discreetly wiped at his eyes and Thorin politely looked away, but their hands stayed joined.

Bilbo's smile faded, after a moment of thought, and Thorin's own did in response. "What is it?"

"Thorin, you can't just show up with this... this _gem_ and expect them _not_ to throw you in jail? Expect them to actually _listen_ to you?"

Thorin's jaw tightened and he looked down at their clasped hands, and when he looked back up his eyes were hard but his voice was wavering, scared.

"I don't have any other choice, I have to try." Bilbo felt his heart break, then, for this gruff criminal who turned out to be the most caring, dedicated, and _loyal_ person Bilbo had ever met, which, even though he hadn't met very many people at all, he'd be willing to meet a thousand more strangers and still stand by what was in Thorin's heart.

"They'll never stop hunting you..." Thorin swallowed hard and said nothing.

"What if you tried talking to them? The King and Queen, that is."

Thorin gaped at him. " _Talking_ to them? What, 'hi hello yes I stole your most precious of heirlooms but I have a good reason, see half your kingdom's poor but you for some reason can't see that, mind if I take over for a while?' I somehow don't think that will end in me _not_ getting thrown in prison."

Bilbo gave him a deadpan stare. " _No_ , not like that, but just- explain your motives, apologize _profusely_ , I know that will be hard for you, and just... be honest. Ask for forgiveness, and beg them to listen to what you have to say." He saw Thorin visibly cringe and the word 'beg', but he appeared to be thinking it over.

"Just... turn myself in? What if it doesn't work? I can't afford to be locked up for the rest of my life, my family needs me."

"Surely they must pardon you if you're honest, and you'll be returning their jewel which you took for a _very_ good cause, completely willingly and peacefully." He looked up at the sky, trails of smoke from the fireworks zigzagging across the clouds that seemed to have been stained by all the color from just minutes before. "They miss their son _so_ much, they obviously have plenty of love in their hearts to spare some for a changed man." He met Thorin's eyes and smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture.

After a long, heavy silence Thorin sighed and nodded just slightly. "I've never considered that to be an option before, but one thing I am sure of," His frown finally started to shift, just the slightest upturning of the corners of his mouth but Bilbo would take it over any magic lights or sparkling gems in the world. 

"I am a changed man."

 

\--------------

 

They'd found their way safely back to shore, Bilbo holding a very frazzled looking CeCe in his arms as Thorin tied up the boat loosely on the opposite end of the lake, the side that was bordered snugly by the thick forest that they'd come from the day before. They'd decided that Bilbo should wait here while Thorin went in with the jewel to plead his case, so that should anything go wrong Bilbo was safe from any blame. He'd also been briefed on how to get back to the tavern from there, so that if Thorin didn't come back in a few hours he could go tell his family what happened and they could decide what to do from there.

The last of the lights' glow had faded from the sky, and as darkness pressed in around the palace it was time for them to part, hopefully only for a little while. Bilbo had put CeCe down and Thorin had reached up to cup Bilbo's face gently in his palms.

"I _will_ come back for you, okay? If everything goes belly-up in there, if I have to dig my way out with a spoon, I will come back to you." Bilbo's words all caught in his throat as it closed tighter and tighter, his own worry winning over. He merely nodded, and Thorin pulled him to his chest in a fierce embrace.

Eventually they let go, and Thorin tucked a stray lock of hair behind Bilbo's ear as he smiled and stepped back into the boat, readying it to row back across.

Bilbo watched him go, sitting on a large rock with CeCe in his lap, petting her head slowly an repetitively, hoping to sooth his nerves.

"Don't you worry girl, everything is going to be okay." She nuzzled into his palm in silent support. "He's going to be okay." His will held out, and he held it together even as Thorin gave him a last, parting wave, barely visible before he was swallowed completely by the growing mist.

 

\--------------

 

Approaching the high stone archway that led into the formal greeting hall and finding it devoid of guards made Thorin relax a little, and sit more heavily on his trust in Bilbo that things might actually be resolved when he walked back out this way, that his family would have the resources that they need to not only survive but _thrive_ , and he could find his way back into Bilbo's arms.

As he neared the chamber he could hear voices, one unmistakably the King and the other a pathetic wailing of a sound, like a distant relation bawling their eyes dry at a funeral to get on the good side of those with fresh inheritance money.

"...it's truly awful, your grace, that he would come here and taunt you so. I saw him with my own eyes, wandering the streets amongst our people! Our _children!_ "

Thorin rounded a corner and was spotted by a group of guards before he could catch more, drawing every eye in the room to him.

"There! There he is sire, do you see?! He has come to steal yet _more_ from you, on this day of grieving when your pain and loss is most biting!" The over-loud and wobbly voice belonged to an old man standing before the King, hooded in a cloak as black as soot. His hair was mostly grey, but Thorin could tell that it had once had all the darkness to match his garb, and his face was pinched and sagging in wrinkled folds, his hands bony and gnarled as they pointed a shaky finger threateningly at Thorin. His face was stretched in dramatic agony, but beneath sharp and greying brows gleamed eyes the color of blood and fire, spitting and hissing with contempt.

The King turned towards Thorin then, his fists clenched and trembling at his sides. His eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt wrenched from him by the old man's twisted lies meant to play on doubt and pain and sorrow. The Queen was nowhere to be seen.

"That bag, bring it to me!" He barked at the guards now holding Thorin roughly by the forearms, his voice betraying him as his tears did the same, spilling over his round cheeks flush with anger. One of them took the satchel to him that they'd wrenched from Thorin's hands and trotted it dutifully up to the King.

"Look, I took that, yes, but I'm turning myself in! I'm giving it back, I didn't come to steal from you! I-"

 _"Enough!"_ The King's broken cry echoed around the chamber, everyone falling silent as he pulled the Arkenstone from the bag, it's facets catching the light and spattering the walls in sickly purples and greens.

"Take him away." His voice was low now, quiet and spent after a long beat of silence.

Thorin thrashed and fought as hard as he could as he was dragged away. " _No!_ Please, your highness, if you'd just _listen-_! Your people are _dying_ , and you can help them! No, _no_ , Bilbo! _Bilbo!"_ His screams bellowed down the long hall towards the cells, but the king heard nothing. He stepped down from his dais like a corpse, shuffling with blank eyes towards his quarters.

"Why today, why did it have to be _today_..." He muttered into the emptying hall and just like that he disappeared behind a door, leaving Thorin's anguish to fall on deaf ears all around him.

The guards threw him harshly to the cold stone floor of his cell, and he scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the bars as they were slammed shut with a resounding clang.

Grinning like he had blood on his lips, Smaug listened to Thorin's howling anger and chuckled darkly, exiting the chamber with a sweep of his cloak behind him.

 _Now that that's out of the way,_ he thought with a twisted glee, _it's time to get my flower back._

 _And he is NEVER getting away again._


	7. Father Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey uh. It's been a while since I last updated, and I would like to apologize for that. ALSO this chapter isn't super long, so I'm sorry for that too. But!! Next chapter will be really long and really action-y, so look forward to that I guess!! It hasn't been proofread super closely, like last chapter so if anything stands out as wonky please let me know!

Minutes trickled past, each one dragging on longer than the one before it as Bilbo sat by the water's edge, flicking stones into its dark surface and watching the ripples spread. CeCe was sat in his lap, warm and still and a comforting presence beneath the shake of Bilbo's hand. He was humming a tune he'd picked up from Thorin's friends back at the tavern to calm himself; it felt like so long ago now that the song felt like a distant memory.

"He's probably shaking hands with the King himself this very second! Now isn't that exciting, girl?" CeCe snuffled her nose in response, and the pebble in Bilbo's hands dropped into the shallow water at his feet with a sudden _plunk_ as a voice crept out of the shadows behind him.

"It would be, if it were true, my flower."

Bilbo was on his feet in an instant, CeCe skittering to the ground as he whipped around and stared in shock upon the rigid sight of his father. His cloak hung about his shoulders and fanned in the stray chill like veined wings the color of fresh blood. His shoulders were set and his back straight, but Bilbo could see that the knuckles on his left hand were white around the shaft of a walking stick, something he'd never seen Smaug use before in all his life. His hair was more gray than black now, and there were more lines in his face than ever there had been. The sizzling fire in his eyes was just as bright and hungry, however, and defied convention by chilling Bilbo to his core.

"Father! How- What are you-?" He gulped and balled his fists. He hated how easily just a glance from Smaug could hunch his shoulders and cast his eyes to the ground, like a dog trained to fear its master's hand.

Before Bilbo could gather himself and reply, Smaug continued. "I told you this would happen, but you didn't listen. Thought you could handle it, and now it's come to this."

Bilbo opened his mouth and closed it again, his brow drawn in confusion, before replying with a little more bite than he could ever have mustered the courage for before leaving his tower. "What are you talking about? He's in there _right_ now showing the King the honorable man I know he is, and-" He paused for a beat a nodded, spurring himself on, "he cares about me. And I care about him too."

Smaug's eyes hardened almost imperceptibly, before blinking it away to reveal a tender, carefully crafted sadness as he cast his gaze out to the lake, towards the palace.

The only sound piercing the thick silence for a long moment was Bilbo's sharp intake of breath, his hands fluttering up to his mouth. Through the mists a dark and unmistakable shape crawled across the water, a tall and broad figure hunched over the steering of a raft, cold and resolute in it's course. It was coming from behind the mossy feet of the palace and headed towards the opposite bank, away from them. Away from Bilbo.

"No... No! H-He loves me, I _know_ he does! He was going to take me with him, I-" Bilbo pulled at his braid and tried to process the feeling of every light and hopeful thing he had within him shattering like a teacup tossed out a window. The building roar in his mind was sliced into a halt at the sudden heat in Samug's voice.

"He _betrayed_ you, Bilbo! He'd rather leave with his spoils and stay the slimy street rat that he is than risk getting caught. He has no honor, and no love in his heart for you!"

The echo of Smaug's words rang out in the silence, and it tolled within him like the ringing of a church bell at a funeral, slow and deep and speaking only of endings.

He didn't take his eyes off the retreating figure until he could no longer make it out in the gloom, and even then his eyes were glued there still, for a few moments after it- after _Thorin_ , was gone.

When he turned back to his father at long last it was with tear-stained cheeks and a broken heart. "Father..." one word was all he could manage, and he choked on it.

"I'm so sorry, flower." Smaug's voice and eyes both were gentle now, and he opened his arms wide and slow, dropped the cane he held to stand on slightly shaking legs.

Another glance back into the fog felt like a candle going out, and his face crumpled as he had no choice but to accept what he saw before him, despite how violently it cried out against what he felt in his heart.

_Everything I've done, I've done for them. My family._

That was it, then. The wild, explosive colors that clamored for space in his vision on this journey so far sputtered and died, falling away to reveal the dark and bleak reality before him in startling clarity.

He threw himself into his father's arms, then, no other direction that he could go having any meaning to him. Everything he'd seen of the world outside his tower Thorin was a part of. He was there with him through it all, and he was terrified that if he took on the unknown without him, it would be twisted and backward and _wrong_. Without his stedy presence, he would a little boat lost in a big, tumultuous sea.

He clung desperately to his father's chest, the only person in Bilbo's life who'd never left him. He sobbed his pain and his fear and his _exhaustion_ into the only thing left in his life comfortable to him, until he was hoarse and tired and numb to it all.

"You were right father, you were right about everything..."

Smaug ran a hand slowly over the top of Bilbo's head and held him while he fell apart, sighing in insidious relief.

"Let's go home, sweetheart."

 

\--------------

 

Smaug plucked the last of the wilting daisies from Bilbo's mussed and tangled braid, dropping it into a basket on the floor that was nearly overflowing with the last remnants of his great adventure. Bilbo sat on his bed in silence, staring at the same patch of wall that he'd been mutely glued to for the last hour.

Plucking up the basket and standing far more enthusiastically than was necessary, Smaug spoke. "There, like it never happened!" He ruffled Bilbo's hair and the last strands holding the braid together came loose, sending it falling away in wavy cords to sit sadly around him. "Now, wash up for dinner, I'm making your favorite! Mushroom soup with thick bread rolls, crispy just how you like it, flower."

Bilbo hummed in quiet recognition, and didn't take his eyes off the wall. Since he'd come back to his tower it felt like his eyes couldn't open fully, like all the color had been sapped from the bright world around him and he was left to skirt the dull and muted edges of life.

Smaug sighed and leaned against the door frame, shoulders slumped. "I tried to tell you Bilbo, truly I did, and now you've seen for yourself what a harsh and unforgiving place the outside world is. Though I wish you didn't have to experience it like that, flower.." Bilbo met his eyes then, slowly, and tried to find something in them that could turn even the smallest light back on inside him. Finding nothing but a suffocating pity for something his father could never understand, he said nothing.

"The world is a selfish place, Bilbo." He straightened in the doorway, and his voice had lost the soft sympathy of moments ago and gained a cold edge; it felt like stepping out of the warm stillness of your bed onto an icy floor, left cold and dead in the night. "It sinks its claws into any bright and shining thing that it can find and _destroys_ it." Still Bilbo had no words, and he stared mutely down at his lap until Smaug gave another sigh and swept out of the room.

Bilbo waited until he heard the faint clanking of pots and pans before he slowly uncurled his fist, a soft square of mossy green fabric unfolding in his palm, a golden sun emblazoned in the center. Nestled safely in the sun's warm rays was his acorn, his token from that incredible day that felt like both a soft-hued dream and more real than anything he'd ever experienced.

His breath left him in a shuddering sigh and dropped down to lay flat on his back on the bed, eyes tracing the familiar murals that covered every inch of his walls as he rolled the acorn lightly in his fingers. Soon enough he stopped seeing the walls of his bedroom and instead saw cobblestone streets crisscrossed with the shadows of banners, shared pastries in secret archways, a worn old storybook that helped a sad little boy feel brave.

In the rolling poppy-dappled hills painted above his window he saw sunlight on clasped hands, green and gold soft on the fringes of his memory. In the cascading waterfall by his wardrobe he saw a family etched in glittering stones, a King and Queen smiling in a way they never would again, their child with eyes like an ocean and hair like a river of gold. In the stars twinkling across his ceiling he saw... he saw the sun, and another, spinning around him, above him, he saw... he saw walls, all around him, protecting him, hands reaching for him, and he wasn't afraid. He saw eyes the color of the sky in the spring, soft brown curls and a crown of gems and gold leaves-

He shot up, the acorn clenched so tight in his fist that he would fear it cracking open if he were himself. But he wasn't, he was someone new, someone impossible who he couldn't ever be, and it slammed into him like a sledgehammer, bursting inside his ribs and threatening to break him open. He stumbled off the bed and fell against his vanity, staring into the mirror at the face of the little boy who was stolen away from his perfect life, smuggled from a castle in the sun and hidden inside a high tower all alone...

"I'm the Lost Prince..."

A ceramic bowl tipped off the desk and shattered at the impact of Bilbo's stumble, and Smaug called out from the kitchen. "Bilbo? What was that, is everything alright?"

"I'm the Lost Prince!" It was louder now, his shocked confession growing into a confident sort of power. He walked out of his bedroom with steel in his spine and fire in his eyes, every question he's ever had being answered by his past, every fleeting feeling of not belonging, of being different, validated in perfect clarity. This was not his life and this was not his tower.

That was not his father.

He rounded the hall and met Smaug halfway, who was wiping his hands on a dishtowel and looking at him with a fatherly concern that put a sour taste in Bilbo's mouth.

"Dinner's almost ready, flower, what were you saying? I hope you haven't gone and broken something in there."

Bilbo's fists were clenched so tight they were shaking, his token still held tightly in one of them. His voice was like the calm before a storm. "I'm the Lost Prince. Aren't I, _father?_ Or should I even call you that?"

For a split second Smaug froze, calculating and imperceptible. "Bilbo do you _hear_ yourself? All that running about, the sun must have gotten to your head!" He moved to touch a hand to Bilbo's forehead and he stepped away out of reach.

"No! My head is clearer than ever and empty of your _lies_ for once in my life!"

Smaug's expression hardened, and his voice was low. "Everything I did, I did to protect you. You know what your hair can do, I was keeping you safe!"

"Keeping _it_ safe, maybe! All this time, my _entire life_ I've spent hiding up here from people who would use me for my hair, and I should've been hiding from _you!_ "

Any last vestiges of warmth and caring in Smaug's expression fell away, leaving the sharp and wrinkled lines of a face locked in cold control. His eyes sparked with embers threatening to grow into a blaze that would burn down everything Bilbo'd ever known. "Where will you go? He won't be waiting for you."

"What.. What did you do to him?"

At that, Smaug _grinned_. "That criminal will be hanged for his crimes against the Crown."

Bilbo's breath caught cold in his throat. "No.."

Smaug stepped closer seizing the opportunity of Bilbo's grief. "Now now... Everything is as it should be, my flower..." He reached out a hand to stroke Bilbo's hair and gasped as Bilbo's hand shot out and gripped his wrist before he could make contact.

"No!"

"Bilbo-!"

" _No_. You were _wrong_ about the world, and you were _wrong_ about me!" He threw Smaug's hand away and stepped back, bracing himself for the surge of courage coursing through him, foreign and invigorating. "And I will _never_ let you use my hair again!"

Smaug stumbled backwards, eyes wide, and braced himself on the wall, knocking down the hall mirror and shattering it into jagged shards that fell at their feet. Smaug clutched his wrist and let out a low growl at the spots and wrinkles that weren't there an hour ago. Bilbo turned to leave, and Smaug squinted his eyes in resignation, pretenses dropped and appearing almost reptilian.

"You want me to be the bad guy? Fine. Now I'm the bad guy."

 


	8. Never Stop Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even want to know how long it's been since I updated this because it's just... been way too long. Depression hit me pretty hard last year and it was really hard to find the motivation to write. BUT! I have a job now, things are getting better at home, and I'm finally healing from some shit some people put me through and it just. Feels really good to dive back into this little au. And hopefully 5k of new chapter will make up for my absence? I sure hope so! 
> 
> WARNING: This chapter has some blood and violence, as well as a father figure being creepy/abusive to Bilbo so if that will be triggering please message me and I can tell you when to stop and fill you in vaguely, and then where to start again! Please be safe <3

The stone floor of his cell was ice cold despite the warm autumn sun filtering through the barred window, and it itched Thorin's skin in every place it touched him. His fists were clenched tight enough to ache and tremble, but it was the only thing keeping him from screaming his voice hoarse for them to _let him out._ He felt like a fool, like he had walked right up to the king and held out his wrists to have irons clapped on. He should've known that going in there would be like a mouse jumping willingly onto a trap, and he _had_ known it, but he also trusted Bilbo. That boy had more goodness and hope in his heart than anyone who grew up locked away from the world had any right to have, and Thorin found strength in it. In him.

_Guess it was too much to ask for me to have successfully taken down every wanted poster on the palace grounds,_ he thought bitterly. However valiant his efforts to stay under the radar were, in the end all it took was a weepy old man betraying his presence to the king. His totally _innocent_ presence at that! Would he have been captured anyway, if he hadn't walked into the palace and surrendered? He had to believe that he would've; the possibility that he gave up everything- every _one_ he was fighting for by his own hand, it was too much to bear.

He knew from far too much experience that it didn't help anybody to sit around and let guilt turn you inside out, but sitting in a musty jail cell with no hope of escaping and no one left to blame but himself, he laid down flat on his back and closed his eyes. He let the misery of the situation wash over him and slosh between his joints, trying to remember the faces of his nephews as he'd last seen them. It was eight months or so ago, and Thorin had bartered a fur trader out of a few extra slips of rabbit pelt to make some winter caps out of for the boys. He'd surprised them, let them find the hats inside the bag of grain he'd brought them, and they'd been so excited... His sister had huffed at the size of them, warning her sons not to let their feet keep growing and make them more rabbit than boy, and then she looked at Thorin in that way that always broke his heart, her gaze thanking him and wishing he were around more and always _always_ that lingering fear that this winter would be too much and she'd wake up without her boys, like she'd woken up one morning with one less brother all those years ago.

Thorin took a deep breath, and was in the middle of reliving their last meal shared together when he heard a soft, keening sort of cry, coming from the next cell over.

"Stupid stupid _stupid_ we are, shouldn't be here _no,_ shouldn't be here..."

Thorin sighed, the cold of this place sinking further into his bones. Whatever that wretched soul next door had done to wind up here, Thorin could relate to his anguished sentiments. What he heard next, though, made him hold his breath and strain to listen further.

"Shut up, shut up! Not our fault, precious, minding our own business we was, when _he_ came." This voice sounded harsher, angrier, like the thick string of a guitar plucked far too hard, strung far too tight. "Nasty black cloak and sharp mouth and _eyes,_ precious, orange eyes, we wants to stab them out."

Black cloak, burning orange eyes, the wretched old man who'd sealed Thorin's fate? What did he have to do with this wretch next door, an innocent if over dramatic senior citizen? He scooted as quietly as he could to the wall his cell shared with the voice's and strained to listen as it continued.

The shrill whining voice was back, sounding more despaired and pathetic than ever. "We only wanted to touch it, the pretty gold hairs, precious... didn't have to hit us, didn't have to _hurt_ us, no..." The voice petered off and started to cry, and Thorin stopped listening, his mind swirling with a hundred different thoughts.

_Golden hair..._ His blood ran cold. That could only mean one person, and though Thorin didn't know how Bilbo fit into all this, he _did_ know that it couldn't mean anything good. Clearing his throat, Thorin called to the man in the cell.

"You there, how did you end up here?" The whimpering cut itself off immediately, a shuddered gasp and a skittering sound against the stone floor filling the chilled silence.

"Why does it want to know? Bad man, not like us, we didn't do it, precious, we're _not_ a thief we _didn't_ steal it... He lies, we hates him and _he lies!"_

"Who? Who lies? What did he say you stole?" He was losing patience, every second spent locked here away from Bilbo was one too many. Already the muttering man began to cry again, Thorin gripping the bars of his cell door tight in frustration.

"Why would we want a shiny crownses, precious? We just wanted to touch the pretty hair... cut it off and keep it, shut up shut _up!"_ Thorin hadn't said anything to interrupt him, and he'd petered off into a series of guttural hacks and coughs, sounding so painful it made Thorin wince. He was about to ask again who this creature was talking about but the voice continued through his sobs. "He got _so_ angry, said we mustn't cut it, never _ever_ cut it or the pretty gold would go away... we didn't _know_ did we precious, didn't have to hit us so _hard_... so many times..."

Thorin's head fell back against his cell wall and he stared at the ceiling as the pieces fell into place. This wraith next door must have been at the celebration, he must have seen Bilbo's hair and fixated on it, for a reason Thorin didn't know and didn't want to guess at. The old man with the orange eyes, undoubtedly the same who'd had the grieving king eating out of his gnarled hands and landed Thorin behind bars, must have told this wretch what would happen if Bilbo's hair were cut and somehow framed him as an accomplice of Thorin's, handing him over to the guards in as short oder as he did Thorin, but not before giving him a good solid reason to stay away, it seems.

_But how would he know what would happen to Bilbo's hair if it gets cut... unless..._

Thorin's breath rushed from his lungs like a candle blowing out.

He had to get to Bilbo.

  
\--------------

  
Hours passed of Thorin screaming his voice hoarse, pleading to speak to the king, to explain this whole thing and get out and _get to Bilbo,_ a group of guards finally approached his cell. Thorin should have known better than to hope.

"Please, just five minutes with His Highness, I have to..." He trailed off at the slow and solemn shake of the head guard's head, looking for all the world like she actually wanted to help him.

"It's time to answer for your crimes against the crown, Oakenshield. You are to be hanged by the neck until dead in punishment for your transgressions." She recited the words in an even tone as if she were reading them from a script, her eyes belying the grizzly finality of her words. "Had you chosen any but the day of our Lord and Lady's day of utmost grief, they may have granted you mercy."

At that, her and the other guards moved into his cell and grasped him firmly by each arm, marching out of the room. He didn't fight them, it wouldn't do to be struck down in the hallway before any other attempts at saving his skin could be made. He did, though, frantically search the corridors as he was being led away, searching for anything at all that he could use as a distraction, anything that he could use to escape-

A flash of movement outside the gaps in the stone wall made him stop, watching as it popped up again, a flurry of leather and worn wool that followed them as they walked, bouncing along right under the guards' noses. Thorin could just make out the ridiculous ear flaps of a familiar and equally ridiculous hat, and his face broke into wide and disbelieving grin.

Thorin schooled his features back into appropriately scared and distressed as the guards at the front of their line came to a locked door at the end of a corridor. A square window in the door slid open to reveal a heavily freckled face with a smug grin pinned across it.

"What's the password?" The boy behind the door asked sweetly.

"Let us through immediately, we are transporting a high-security prisoner!" The head guard shouted.

The boy behind the door made a disapproving sound. "Sorry, that's not it mate."

"This is ridiculous, we don't have time for this!" The guard bellowed, pounding a fist against the door and making the hinges rattle.

The small window slid open again and the boy behind it shook his head and huffed. "That's not even close!" The guard got red in the face at at that, and as he continued trying to pound down the door several things happened at once. Oin and Gloin quickly and quietly rushed from darkened side corridors and took out the two guards behind Thorin, Bifur dropped from the ceiling - _somehow_ \- and crushed a third, and Thorin stepped out of the way grinning from ear to ear as Bombur barreled through where Oin and Gloin had come from, threatening the last guard with a hefty raise of a rather large soup ladle. She raised her hands silently and dropped her weapon, surrendering without a fight. She gave Thorin a small nod and an even smaller smile, gesturing to the keyring at her belt which he unclipped with a nod of his own.

At the clang of her sword hitting the ground the guard at the front whipped around, drawing is sword and _growling_ at the sight of his patrol disbanded and lying in heaps on the floor, the prisoner smirking at him from behind the four _additional_ ruffians surrounding him. He raised his sword to rush at them and his battle  cry was cut decidedly short by the heavy wooden door slamming open, crushing him against the wall in a heap. Dwalin's thick fist fell from the door and he cracked his knuckles, nodding to Thorin while little Ori next to him straightened his vest as if _he'd_ been the one to throw open the door.

"Thought you could use a little room service. Ready to check out?" Dwalin asked with a wink, and Ori swatted his arm playfully. Thorin gripped Dwalin's arm hard, all of his relief and thanks and persisting anxiety over _getting out of there now_ pumped into a meaningful look and a nod of his own.

The moment was broken, though, as another group of guards burst through the door at the other end of the hall, already armed and swinging. "Run!" Ori shouted, and Thorin did not need to be told twice. They're all tearing down the halls and passageways in a flurry of sweat and shouts and fists flying, members of their rag-tag rescue team breaking off from the group to subdue guards coming out of the woodwork. Bifur and Gloin broke away to fight, and Bombur barreled ahead and made a path, suddenly Bofur and Nori appearing at his sides to flank him. They faught as a slap-dash tag-team unit, their one goal seeming to be to get Thorin out of there as fast as possible, protecting him along the way. They twisted down another corridor and down a flight of stairs before Nori pulled Thorin aside, leading just the two of them through an archway and out into the blinding sun of the courtyard.

Nori was fast and light on his feet, only stopping to grab a spear off the wall to wrench the iron cuffs off Thorin's wrists. Thorin scrambled to keep up and Nori led them down more stairs, gesturing imatiently for Thorin to catch up. Finally at the base of the courtyard, Nori ushered him up onto what looked like a wheeled cart for transporting supplies in and out of the castle gates, its front end touching the ground as it sat empty and unhitched.

"Head down, arms in, knees apart. Pretend I just punched you in the gut, shouldn't be that hard to picture." Nori pulled and tweaked Thorin's limbs into the positions he directed him into before taking a few wide steps away.

"Why am I doing this exactly..?" Already doors were slamming open all around them, troops and troops of guards pouring into the courtyard like ants from their hill. Rather than answering him Nori just looked up, but Thorin didn't even have time to be confused as to why before Bombur was falling onto the other end of the cart behind him with a triumphant cry, the teeter-totter effect launching him impossibly high into the air with a scream. He soared up and over the courtyard walls, landing smack-dab and rather painfully into the saddle of a horse, waiting lazily for his arrival.

Once he was done wheezing and cursing Nori's name, he finally raised his head and let out a gasping laugh at the sight that greeted him. "CeCe!" The little brown rabbit was seated atop the horse's head (who seemed very nonplussed about that fact) and twitching her nose at him excitedly. "Did, did you bring them here? To rescue me?" CeCe nodded, blinking wide-eyed up at him. His face softened and he ran a tender finger through the fur between her ears. "Thank you."

He picked her up gingerly and tucked her into the front of his shirt, shaking his head and clearing his mind. Taking a deep breath and a tight hold of the tavern horse's reigns, he threw a last look back at where his friends, no, his _family,_ were fighting and buying him time before digging his heels in and urging the horse into as fast a run as he dared. "Alright CeCe, hold on!" He roared into the wind whipping past his face, tearing across the stone bridge before the palace and through the dense shade of the forest he and Bilbo had trekked their way through, what seems like ages ago now. Stop it, he scolded himself. He couldn't dwell on the past, he had think about _right now,_ about Bilbo, about nothing but getting to him _right now._

He snapped the reigns and rode harder, the horse panting with the effort and CeCe shaking against his chest. He couldn't slow down, he couldn't look back.

_I'm coming Bilbo, I'm coming for you._

  
\--------------

  
The light had almost faded completely by the time Thorin burst through the underbrush into Bilbo's clearing, his tower standing tall and still and silent in the muted greys of dusk. He leapt off the horse and ran to the base of the tower, panting and disheveled and frantic. CeCe scampered up and onto his shoulder as he cupped his hands and shouted up at the dark window, "Bilbo! Bilbo it's me, let down your hair!" For a moment, nothing happened, and Thorin's stomach turned, before a shock of gold flew from the window, catching the last of sunlight as it fell in thick cords down the smooth stones of the palace wall, stopping just feet before touching the grass below.

Thorin sagged in relief and didn't waste time wrapping his fists in the impossible softness of the hair, his grin growing wider and wider as he scrambled up the side of the tower and up over the windowsill. His heart was thudding in a chorus of _he's okay he's okay he's okay oh god he's okay!_

His boots thud loudly against the floor and he steps into the shadows of the room. "Bilbo! Bilbo, I thought I'd never see you again..." He trails off as something goes skittering further into the dark, accidentally kicked as he strode into the room. Squinting down at it he recognises it, the little acorn Bilbo picked up at the palace. _What would it be doing in the middle of the floor, in the dark..._ He tilts his head and following the trail of hair he looks up, slowly, and entirely too late.

Bilbo is there, only everything is wrong.

He's crouched down on his knees as if he cannot stand, his wrists pinned together behind his back with a cruelly tight length of rope. His mouth is bound with a length of cloth between his teeth to stifle his cries, and his eyes are wide and frantic as he strains against his bonds. He's jerking wildly, calling as loudly for Thorin as his gag allows, and Thorin is about to rush forward when he's rushed from the side and his ribs explode in pain.

He gasps and splutters, turning into the fierce and burning gaze of the man who lied to the king. Only, it wasn't him, not completely. This man was much younger, wrinkles and spots giving way to smooth skin pinched in a snarl, his hair jet black where it had been grey and thinning, but those eyes. Those eyes, roiling with hate and searing him with their heat, so intense he could almost hear the flames roaring in his ears, were the very same.

Those eyes look upon him now in twisted malice, above an unnaturally sharp and splintering grin as he chuckles darkly and deeply, almost drowned out by Bilbo's muffled screams. Smaug gives the knife a hard twist before letting it slide out of his side as Thorin falls to the floor, like a heap of broken stone.

Bilbo is gasping hard and crying now, pulling hard against his restraints to no avail. From the floor Thorin can't see much, his vision blurry and already starting to flicker from pain or blood loss or both, he isn't sure. He sees the man wipe his blood off of the dagger before sheathing it and turning away from him without a second glance.

"Now see what you've done, Bilbo." He walks slowly behind him until he quickly drops down into a crouch a roughly forces Bilbo's head up to look, a fistful of matted blond hair in a white-knuckled grip. Bilbo cries out in pain struggles with everything he has to go to him, but Smaug shoves him back down, hard, looking at him with disdain. "If you had just _listened_ to me and not gone running off, he would alive and happy and far, far away from here. But now he's going to die, cold and alone and so young, and it's all your fault." Bilbo shook his head wildly and cried harder, which only made Smaug grin. Thorin wanted to kill him.

He tried pushing himself up, tried inching forward, reaching a bloody hand for Bilbo, but he was losing quite a lot of blood, at least it felt like it, and he didn't get very far. He collapsed back into a pile on the floor, the wet squelch of his blood pooling audible in the room. CeCe took that moment to take a running leap at Smaug, latching her teeth into his ankle and biting feircely. Smaug only hissed and shook her off, dealing her a single savage kick, sending her thudding into the wall where she lay motionless, in the dust and the darkness.

"Shh don't cry, pet, we're going somewhere _far_ away from here, where no one will _ever_ find you again." He strokes a cruelly soft hand against Bilbo's cheek, who pulls away immediately. "Oh, and don't worry, our little secret will die with him." He sends another wicked grin Thorin's way, which is hard to focus on through the pain each shallow breath brings him.

Smaug moves to Bilbo's side and hauls him to his feet, yanking his arm harshly towards the exit and Bilbo fights with everything he has to stay rooted to the spot.

"Bilbo, stop- stop fighting me!"

_"No!"_ Bilbo has worked the gag free and is meeting those dragonfire eyes with his own fiercely, his gaze like an unyielding cliff-face weathering the crashing violence of the sea day after day, never crumbling away. "I will _never_ stop fighting you." His voice is hoarse, "Every minute of every day of my _entire_ life I will not stop fighting you. But..." He locks eyes with Thorin. "If you let me save him, I'll stop. I'll never run, never try to get away, I'll be the perfect son, I'll be whatever you want me to be if you just. Let me heal him."

Smaug narrows his eyes down at him, taking achingly long to think it over, before exhaling harshly through his nose and picking up a length of chain from a crate against the far wall. He drags Thorin none-too-gently over to lay against the main support beam of the house, a thick trail of blood in his wake as he chains him tightly to it, clicking the lock closed with finality. "In case you get any _unfortunate_ ideas of following us," he spits as he stands and walks back to Bilbo, cutting his bonds.

He's up and running to kneel over Thorin faster than he can process in this state, and he's choking on his tears again as he grabs one of Thorin's hand in his.

"Hey, shh, it's gonna be okay now, okay? You're gonna be okay just let me-"

"Bilbo... don't do this, I can't... I can't let you do this," Thorin rasps, trying to keep from shuddering too violently and just praying to anyone who's listening that he'll have enough blood left in him to be with Bilbo just a little bit longer.

"And I can't let you die." Bilbo gives him a watery smile, wiping a streak of blood from his chin with a thumb. He gathers his hair up in handfulls and starts trying to wrap them around Thorin's side but Thorin is pushing him away, gasping and coughing and _resisting._ "Shh now, come on, it'll all be fine, you have to let me save you," Bilbo pushes Thorin's weak grip away and starts to sing, shaky and low, as Thorin's hands fall to his sides.

"Bilbo... wait..." Bilbo leans his head against Thorin's, tears falling onto the other man's cheeks as he struggles through the first line, and then-

And then, everything stops. Thorin scrabbles around for something, anything, and when Bilbo's head meets his, he strokes a hand across his beautiful, golden hair, gathers it into his hand, all together, his fingers running through it...

...and cuts it all off, one quick slice with a thick shard of broken mirror.

"Thorin-!" Bilbo grasps wildly at his hair, now falling around his face in loose honey-brown curls. He watched, stunned, as the gold drained from his hair like water down a drain, leaving only lengths upon lengths of darker brown hair in its place.

_"NO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"_ Smaug roared, his wails sounding almost inhuman as they shook the walls in his horror. Frantically he snatches up coils of hair, lip trembling as he watches the gold being devoured, lost forever. He stands and throws the hair down, bellowing desperately as he raises a shaking hand to inspect, veins bulging and skin warping and wrinkling, cracking and flaking in places. He stumbles over to the shattered mirror and wrenches it towards him, keening in raw despair and anger at the unnatural sag of his face, his eyes going milky and his hair shock through with white.

Howling and spitting with defeat Smaug trips across the floor as his body revolts against him, disintegrating as each second ticks by. His cloak sweeps underfoot, he yanks the hood down over himself to hide away and in a flash of black and red he's falling, tumbled over the windowsill with a last, echoing cry of pain. Bilbo reached out a hand to grab him but it was out of his reach, and Smaug was gone; Nothing but a pile of ash and a ratty old moth-bitten cloak at the foot of the tower.

Bilbo's father is gone, and he does not grieve for him.

Thorin has gone still, Smaug's howls falling on ears that could not hear them. Bilbo snapped back to himself, hunching over Thorin's body and flicking his hands all over but not knowing where to touch, not knowing how to fix this.

"No no no Thorin _no,_ stay with me come on, it's gonna be okay just-" He settled for wiping the hair from Thorin's face, cupping his cheeks. "Look at me, okay? Come on look at me, you're gonna be fine, stay with me-" Thorin coughed and spluttered, easing his eyes open and trying hard to focus on the face before him. Bilbo grabbed one of Thorin's hands and pressed it to his new curls, holding it down hard and singing shakily, desperately, "Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine-" He choked on the words, knowing that the power was gone, they wouldn't be able to save him now.

Thorin's gasps had turned into Bilbo's name and hadn't it always been that way?

He let Thorin's hand drop and squeezed it tight, cupping his face with his other hand.

"Bilbo, you... you were my new dream," It's barely a whisper, but he's smiling so softly up at him to match and Bilbo can actually feel his heart breaking. He'd read about this, in his books, what it was like to find love and then lose it, but _nothing_ inside this tower or out could have prepared him for what it felt like. What it felt like when it was _real._

He whispered back, tears rolling down his cheeks and smiling despite it all. "And you were mine..." Just like that, as if after seeing him smile Thorin could finally allow himself to let go... he did. His head fell back with Bilbo's smile on his face, because it sure as stars wasn't on Bilbo's anymore, and he was still.

For a moment, Bilbo couldn't breath. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, he couldn't even cry anymore. He ghosted a hand down Thorin's cheek, still warm, as if he were just sleeping, waiting for Bilbo to wake him up and take him on an another adventure... only, he wasn't sleeping. He wouldn't wake up, soon he wouldn't even be warm anymore and this would be the end of the best and worst thing to ever happen to him.

Cradling his head close, running his fingers through his hair, Bilbo did the only thing that made any sense, the only thing that ever made any sense. He sang.

_Heal what has been hurt,_   
_Change the Fates' design._   
_Save what has been lost,_   
_Bring back what once was mine..._

His voice was raw and bleeding, barely there, the sound of old bones breaking apart because they're done, they can't stay together anymore. Gently he touched their foreheads together and he couldn't hold back any longer, sobs clawing their way out from behind his teeth. "What once... was mine..." A single tear fell onto Thorin's cheek, landing in a smear of blood and cleaning the skin beneath it as it slid down his face.

He couldn't remember how long he'd sat there, crowded over Thorin's too-still body and crying himself raw, it felt like both an eternity and only a breath.

He couldn't tell you either exactly when it stopped being so dark in that cold and empty tower, when a soft golden light rose up through Thorin's skin where Bilbo's tears had fallen. Bilbo blinked, confused and sniffling, and the light only grew brighter, coiling up from Thorin's wound in swirls and spatters and splashes, until it filled the room. Bilbo could only stare as he saw his fireworks again, dancing above him and filling him with a calm and steady knowledge that _it was_ _going to be okay._ The place where all his blood had left him now was filled and mended with sparkling light, fading away once its' job was done, leaving the room a little brighter for it.

Then Bilbo heard someone take a breath that wasn't his and he snapped his gaze back down to Thorin, hoping beyond hope.

His eyes slowly slid open and he sucked in a slow breath. "Bilbo..?"

Bilbo choked on a gasp and snatched up his hand, holding it to his chest. "Thorin?" A broken whisper.

Bilbo waited as patiently as he could for Thorin to speak again, building up the strength and breath as he was. "I was right, you're just as beautiful as a brunette." He managed a weak grin, and Bilbo was laughing through a whole new kind of tears as he all but tackled him, wrapping his arms around Thorin's shoulders more tightly than he'd held anything in his life. He couldn't help but laugh as he held him, and as Thorin held him back, delirious with the incredible high of getting something back that you were certain was lost forever.

Thorin sat up a little and took Bilbo with him, just holding him close and breathing in the same scent of him through his new hair, and thanking whoever was out there for listening, granting him his wish and more.

After a moment Bilbo pulled back only far enough to look into Thorin's face, _warm and smiling and alive,_ and he simply could not control himself any longer. Grabbing Thorin squarely by the shirt collar, he pulled him in for his very first kiss. Thorin was still for only a moment, before he was kissing back just as tenderly, unable to remember a time where he was more thankful and downright lucky to be alive.

Thorin didn't grow up believing in fairy tales or wishful thinking, he'd been taught far too young that life is cruel and will take everything from you. Now, he supposes that sometimes, when the stars are right and sparks fly, dreams really can come true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE END. I PROMISE. 
> 
> I know that sure sounds like a pretty little wrap up but we've got one more (short!!) chapter after this one and an epilogue, so I really wanna kick my own ass into finishing this within a week or so. Feedback and support honest to god helps me get shit done faster, so if you liked it, tell me! Or just flail at me, or if you DIDNT like it, tell me that too! I love hearing what my readers think and I was SUPER excited to write this chapter finally, with all that happens, and I'm proud of how it turned out. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and again my goal is finishing this within a week or two, but if for some reason I don't finish it that quick, I PROMISE I will NEVER give up this fic. I am finishing this bad boy whether you like it or not, or I'm gonna kick my own ass.


	9. The Piece That Was Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. CLOSE. TO DONE.
> 
> enjoy!

The colored stone was smooth beneath Belladonna's fingertips, ghosting across the faces of her broken family, rendered whole and in stone in celebration of what was - and what was now lost. Yes, Belladonna, just Belladonna, not Her Highness. Not today. Today she was just a mother who's lost her child, feeling the ache of the hole that losing him bore within her more harshly today than any other out of the year. Her son's birthday had passed, yes, but now in the subdued aftermath of the celebration there were no fireworks to ebb her sorrow, no laughing smiling faces of her people, dressing up the courtyard and dancing in the streets. Today was still, today was quiet, today was the day that Belladonna let herself hurt.

She touched the stones, gently skating over the many shades of blue that cobbled together to form her son's eyes, and she could almost feel the warmth of the sweet autumn sun through the cold of her grief. She took in her own face within the mosaic, and her husband's, smiles bright and full of love and eternal, here in the courtyard before the palace. How happy they were, then. It's good to have this reminder, she knows, this snapshot of when they were a _family,_ but here among her people, in common skirts and only the odd guard or two standing a respectful distance away, listening to the shopkeeper sweeping up ribbons and scrap paper and the bakers calling out their wares of the day, all it did was hurt.

She'd almost died for her child, and every day since it felt like she had died again for him.

Bungo -just Bungo, today- stepped up beside her and placed a steady hand at the small of her back, his presence grounding her. Usually it was Bella who was strong, who held together when Bungo could not, but no pain on this earth or any other could come close to that of a grieving mother, and Bungo understood that, through the pangs in his own heart. He too was dressed casually, the pomp and frippery that was mandatory in seats of royalty set aside; their people knew they were there, as they knew every year that they came down from within the stifling palace walls, to stand before the Royal Portrait mosaic and grieve in peace.

Belladonna stepped into the embrace, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder and trying to remember what her son's tiny voice sounded like when a lone guard came barreling down the cobblestone path, in full armor and panting like a dog as he jogged to a stop before them.

"Your Highnesses! Bungo, sir, Belladonna-!" The man gasped out, heaving a breath to continue when, with a sweep of a ratty old robe from behind a toymaker's stand, Gandalf was before them, his usual garments also forgone for a threadbare grey ensemble. The guard was baffled, as anyone who wasn't used to the old man's habits of theatrical materialization should be, and while he puzzled Gandalf spoke.

His eyes were wide and shining wetly from beneath thick brows and the brim of his pointed hat as he said, with no small wavering in his voice, "He's here. He's come back to you."

They'd had incidents over the years, too many to count, of people seeking audience with them and claiming to be their lost son. It was cruel and absolute emotional torture for them, and eventually they forbid anyone from making such a claim. But, if Gandalf had seen him, had known it himself to be true...

Belladonna and Bungo shared a quick and heavy look, tears already threatening to spill at the overwhelming _hope_ of it all, and in an instant they were thundering up the path hand in hand, clumsy shoes discarded for speed. Belladonna's curls whipped their faces, Bungo's cheeks were red with exertion, and their grip on each other was white knuckled as they sped toward what they wanted more than anything in the cosmos; their _family,_ safe and together and whole at long, long last.

They couldn't contain their wild laughter and what-if tears, feet slapping on the sun-warm stone as they ran towards a hopeful future and a mended past.

\--------------

Bilbo stood on the most lavish balcony he'd ever been on in his life (of which this was only the second, but who's counting), with one of Thorin's hands warm and solid on his shoulder from behind him and the other playing at his new and decidedly more curly hair, to distract him from being so nervous.

Because he was, _incredibly_ so. He was practically shaking with it, thinking Thorin knew a bit more than what he led on as his fingers slowly and repeatedly threading through his hair was the only thing keeping him from leaping right over the fancy raling and having a go at clambering down the palace wall. _What if they don't remember me? What if I don't remember them? What if they think I'm lying and throw me in the dungeons like they did to Thorin for the rest of my life? I ­can't go back into another cage, I_ won't...

Thorin seemed to be able to hear his thoughts as loudly as he could himself, and he squeezed his shoulder firmly and bent to bury his nose in Bilbo's hair, kissing his crown softly. "I won't tell you to stop worrying, because it won't work, but I _will_ tell you they're going to love you just as much as when they lost you." The words were murmured into his hair and he wrapped his arms across Bilbo's chest, holding him close. "And if they don't, for some impossible and unlikely reason, well..." he trailed off, and just when Bilbo was starting to think he wasn't going to continue he spoke again.

"...well you've still got someone who does."

Bilbo froze for a moment, mind finally, blessedly, blank, but for a whole new slew of nerves. He spun around in Thorin's arms, leaving him being held loosely by the shoulders and looking up into the side of Thorin's face, as he looked away. He was blushing from his beard to his brows, though, and almost-smiling like he had a live goldfish in his mouth.

Bilbo gasped out an awed laugh, blinking a few times to let what Thorin said sink in. After a moment he reached up, smiling sweetly, and tilted Thorin's chin until he was looking at him again.

"Thorin, I already know CeCe loves me, you don't have to remind me."

Thorin's eyebrows slammed together so fast Bilbo could almost hear the resounding thud of his confusion, and he just _had_ to reach up on his tip-toes and give him a sweet peck on the cheek to give him some small bit of mercy. An indignant squeak from the railing behind them made them turn and look, none other than CeCe herself, perched on the ledge and snuffling at the crisp white bandages wrapped around one foot.

Bilbo leaned around Thorin's frame to address her directly, hands splayed on his chest for balance. "Don't I know it, darling. And I love you too, you mongrel." It was said with total fondness, and Thorin rolled his eyes, though he was smiling, too. He hadn't really signed up for a snarky pint-sized boyfriend and an even snarkier rabbit when he'd left home, but he couldn't imagine where he'd be without them, now.

Bilbo winked up at him, laying his head against his chest for a moment to just breath. CeCe shenanigans aside, there was still quite the life-changing reunion to be concerned with, and Bilbo wasn't sure he was ready, while at the same time he knew that he'd been waiting for this moment for his entire life. Needless to say, it took short work to set his mind buzzing.

As if summoned by Bilbo's no doubt palpable worry, the handle of the door leading into the palace jiggled, and Bilbo lost his breath. He shared a last look with Thorin, pointing a finger up at him with a quick "Seriously though, we're talking about this later", before lacing their fingers together and slowly turning around to face his fate.

A deep breath, a squeeze of fingers, and the door opened.

...to a wind-whipped looking brunette couple on the short side, wearing slightly tousled commoners clothes and not a single thing on their bare feet.

For a very long moment everything was silent, no one wanting to shatter the building hope that was almost tangible in the air around them. As they stood there, just locking eyes and not daring to breath, it was Bilbo who spoke first.

"I figured footwear was a prerequisite of royalty.." He gave a lame chuckle, petering off as he looked down at his own dirty, travel-worn feet, bare as the day he was born.

The King and Queen tried at a smile but it was just a flutter of a thing, and just a touch awkward, and had Bilbo kicking himself. Slowly, hesitantly, Belladonna stepped forward, and with a deep breath and a squeeze of Thorin's hand in his, he let it go and stepped forward himself.

No one said a word, and Bilbo thought it was best they didn't. The kind of tender, fragile hope that she looked upon him with was like a baby bird peering over the edge of its nest, on the precipice of something so much bigger than itself and with a just the smallest gust of wind could be swept over the edge and lost forever.

Gently she reached out a hand and smoothed hair from his forehead that was entirely the wrong color, but exactly the same as her own. Her other hand came up to stroke a trembling thumb across his cheek, and Bilbo leaned into her touch immediately, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes were locked onto his as she searched, desperately, for her little boy who was stolen away.

Her body shook and trembled at the color of them, the same sad eyes like a well you couldn't see the bottom of, sadder still now after all this time being lost, the bone-deep longing for the place you truly belong spelled out in their depths as plainly as poetry to her. She couldn't hold it together anymore, and her breath came out a choked sob through her impossible grin as emotions swept through her that she'd never thought she'd ever feel again, the feeling of holding her son in her arms again overwhelming her as she lost the ability to do anything but hold onto him for dear life and cry.

Her arms were like a vice around him but Bilbo didn't care, his own tears flowing freely now as he hugged his mother fiercely. His _mother!_ Bilbo had never had a mother before, as long as he could remember, but in that moment he knew exactly what it felt like to be loved by her, truly and with every ounce of herself that she had to give. It was _incredible_. At Bella's reaction Bungo stepped in to hold Bilbo's face in his hands and look for himself upon the face of his son, and he wept just as fiercely, wrapping his arms around the both of them as they all fell apart together.

Thorin watched the scene from the other end of the veranda, his heart full to bursting with happiness for Bilbo, and for the King and Queen as well. No one deserved to lose their child, and he knew quite well what it did to people when it happened. His fingers twitched to go and hold him, too, to wipe the tears away and tell him how happy he was that he finally found his home, but he knew that Bilbo needed this, that they all did.

When Bungo looked up at him, his expression tear-stained and unreadable, Thorin straightened up and cleared his throat.

"I know I stole from you," he began, his voice steady and his back rigidly straight, accepting head-on whatever they would deal him in the face of his wrongdoings, "but I stand by my reasons for the crime. I apologize for adding to your grief, and I... I understand if you want to throw me back in a cell, but please. Please, all I ask is that you don't punish Bilbo for my mistakes."

Thorin met Bilbo's eyes at that, trying to convey in one last glance everything that their time spent together has meant to him, everything he's seen and done and opened himself up to because of this beautiful boy with the sun in his heart, in case this would be his last chance to do so.

"He is innocent on all counts, any wrong doing against the crown was mine and mine alone, and if you can find it within yourselves to let me speak with you, just to tell you _why-_ "

"We know, Thorin Oakenshield." Belladonna cut in, calmly and firmly stopping him in his tracks as she looked up at him with clear and red-rimmed eyes. She stood from where the three of them had crumpled, tugging a confused Bilbo gently by the hand to stand with her while the King followed suit, before continuing. "We know now about the poverty within our kingdom that we were blind to, we know now where we are needed most." She held his gaze fiercely at that, despite the grief and regret that threatened to spill over she did not look away, like she knew all of what he had lost under her reign.

She nodded to him once, then, slow and reverent, before reaching out a gentle hand in a gesture of peace. "We know how you helped our son."

Thorin reached out and hesitantly placed his hand in hers, surprised by the strength of her grasp as she squeezed it tight, covering his hand with her other one. "I... How...?"

"Your, ah, _friends_ told us." She smirked, still holding his hand warmly between hers, a smile looking so much more at home on her face than a frown ever did. "Manhandled the Royal Guard from chasing after you and demanded an audience with us rather politely, all things considered. They explained everything."

Thorin tried hard to picture it, Bofur with his hat in his hands and addressing _monarchs_ by force, Dwalin and perhaps Bifur or Bombur snarling at the legions of guards, but it was too much to wrap his head around. He definitely owed them a round of drinks when this was all over, and that wouldn't even _begin_ to cover his debt to them. He shook his head and did the only thing that made sense.

He laughed.

Belladonna smiled, warm and wide and full of emotions Thorin couldn't begin to process all at once, and at Bilbo's own giggling ringing out and mingling with his own she gave his hand a tug.

"Thank you for bringing him back to us."

Before he knew it Thorin was pulled into a warm embrace, feeling himself become a part of this small and broken family, and he almost couldn't breath with the sheer relief that was flooding through him. He held them tight, King and Queen alike, and when Bilbo's hand found its way over to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone so tenderly, he truly felt like he had found a home here, a home inside those too-deep eyes and too-big heart.

He decides he'll let all of them bask in the ecstasy of the moment while they can, before informing them that _Bilbo_ had actually been the one to drag _him_  all the way here to the castle. Somehow he had a feeling that Bungo and Belladonna wouldn't be one least bit surprised to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER GUYS!!! The last one is actually an epilogue so if you want you can see this as The End! I should be finishing it up pretty quick, and then I shall have quite the celebration for finishing my first ever multichapter fic. Exciting right??
> 
> And don't worry!! Thorin has definitely not forgotten about his family and decided to ditch them all for the royal life. All loose ends will be tied up in a nice and fluffy emotional bow in the epilogue coming soon!


End file.
